A Challenge a Day
by Katling
Summary: This is a series of ficlets written for the housefic50 and fanfic100 challenge prompts. They are all HouseWilson and range in rating from K to M but will be rated M overall.
1. Beginnings

This is not a single story. This is a collection of small little ficlets that I wrote in response to the housefic50 and fanfic100 prompts that appear over at LiveJournal. Overall this collection will be rated M though the ficlets actually range from K – M and all are House/Wilson, mostly slash, some more friendship but either way you have been warned, please don't complain.

Disclaimer for all fics: I don't own 'em. If I did the show would be much stranger and House and Wilson would kiss a lot more.

And since we're not allowed to put up Author notes as a single chapter here is the first one. The layout for the fic headings will run as follows:

Prompt used to write the fic

Title

The fic

* * *

**001. Beginnings**

At the End of the Day

The buzzing sounds of the doorbell rang through out the apartment. House sat slouched on his couch, staring at the TV and resolutely ignoring the noise. He'd had a day in the clinic he'd rather forget. No less than _three_ patients had puked on him as a result of some kind of stomach bug that was going around. Add to that the fact that the patient in his current case had decided to take a down turn and have a cardiac arrest and Stacy had been annoyingly _present_ and he suspected she was lurking for some reason. All in all, he didn't want to deal with _anyone_ right now.

The buzzing sound stopped and House let himself relax slightly. He tensed again when whoever was at the door began pounding on it.

"House?" The voice was Wilson's and it sounded tired and a touch worried.

House sighed and turned off the TV. He levered himself to his feet, limping over and opening the door.

"What?" he snapped then wished he hadn't. Wilson looked like he was ready to drop and he had two suitcases sitting at his feet.

"She kicked you out?" he said in a slightly softer voice.

Wilson nodded. "She filed for divorce."

House stepped back and allowed Wilson to drag the suitcases inside. He then shut the door and headed for the kitchen.

"Beer?" he said as he opened the fridge.

"Yeah," came the exhausted response from the living room and he heard Wilson collapse on the couch.

House grabbed two bottles and limped back out into the living room, handing one bottle to Wilson then sitting beside him on the couch. Wilson opened the bottle with a sigh then drained a good third of the beer in one swallow.

"Well, my couch is your couch," House said into the silence. "Why did she choose now?"

Wilson was silent for a long time. "Because she finally worked it out."

House frowned. "Worked what out?"

Wilson was silent again then he leaned forward and placed the beer bottle on the table, his exhaustion fading as his resolve strengthened. He turned himself slightly on the couch and looked at House. There was a look in his eyes that made House's breath catch. He'd always hoped to see that look in Wilson's eyes but had never thought it would happen and even now wasn't sure that he was seeing it right.

"What I've known for a while but have been too chicken to do anything about," Wilson said with a hint of a challenge.

"And what's that?" House asked, his nerves starting to twang.

"This," Wilson said warmly as he leaned forward and captured House's lips in a gentle kiss full of promises of things to come.


	2. Middles

**002. Middles**

Resignation

The envelope sat squarely in the middle of the conference room table and all three of House's team had eyed it curiously when they walked in. None of them had touched it until they were all sitting around the table with coffee in hand then Foreman finally picked it up.

"It's addressed to us," he said with a raised eyebrow. "And its House's writing."

"Well, open it then," Chase said as he idly sipped his coffee.

Foreman snorted then ripped the envelope open, pulling a letter out. He unfolded the white paper and started reading.

_Foreman, Chase, Cameron,_

_I've resigned. Cuddy has assured me your jobs are safe and she'll find a replacement for me._

_Wilson had a heart attack last night. A minor one but a heart attack nonetheless. Stress induced apparently. He's been told to reduce his workload, cut the amount of stress he's under, eat better etc etc. We're taking the opportunity to change a lot of things. He's resigned as well. We're heading off together for the middle of nowhere for a rest. If Julie comes around, ignore her._

_I know you're all in the middle of your Fellowships but my replacement should have no problems taking over. Probably won't be as good as me though._

_House_

The three young doctors stared blankly at each other, unsure of what was the biggest shock; the implication that House and Wilson were apparently a couple, that House had actually resigned or that they had just realised how much they were going to miss working for him.


	3. Ends

**003. Ends**

All's Well

Wilson stared down to where the end of House's cane was resting a touch painfully in the middle of his chest and effectively pinning him to the wall of his office.

"House," he said in mild protest. "What are you doing?"

House shuffled forward awkwardly, finally lowering the cane and grabbing the end of Wilson's tie.

"So you've ended it?" House asked in a low voice, his eyes intent.

"With Julie? Yes," Wilson said with surprise.

Wilson's surprise turned to sudden shocked realisation when House limped forward the two steps required to pin him to the wall with his body. House _knew_. Somehow, despite Wilson's best efforts to hide how he felt, House had figured it out.

As House's mouth descended upon his, Wilson's only thought was, _All's well that ends well._


	4. First

**004. First**

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Wilson first kissed House after an argument.

It wasn't an argument with House but with his wife. Julie had been waiting for him when he got home after an evening spent eating Chinese takeaway and drinking beer with his friend. She was furious and Wilson had to admit that she had cause. She'd had a half a dozen of their, or rather _her_, friends over for a dinner party and he'd just clean forgotten about it in the stress of the day. Two of his patients had died and another likely wouldn't last the night and House had offered the beer and takeaway without needing much in the way of prompting. It was what he'd needed and in some ways he was glad that he'd forgotten Julie's plans; an evening spent making awkward small talk with Julie's friends would have likely been more than even _his_ patience could have taken.

The argument had ended with Julie walking out with the suitcase he hadn't even seen when he walked in the door. He'd stood in the empty living room for nearly fifteen minutes before walking up the stairs up to the bedroom he had shared with his wife and packing his own suitcase. He didn't want to stay here; he couldn't remember the last time it had felt like home.

It hadn't taken long to arrive back at House's apartment and he could hear the soft strains of the piano as he knocked on the door. House didn't seem overly surprised to see him when he opened the door. He merely stood back and allowed Wilson to enter.

Wilson had dropped his suitcase next to the front door and stared at the piano while House closed the door. The older man had then nudged him as he limped past and something had snapped inside Wilson. He had stopped House with a hand on his shoulder then gently pushed him against the wall. House had watched him with blank curiosity until Wilson pressed against him and leaned in. Then House's eyes had widened with something that might have been panic or possibly relief. Wilson hadn't wanted to quantify it as he captured House's lips in a firm, determined kiss. House hadn't moved for one long, terrible moment then he'd subtly relaxed and opened his mouth to Wilson.

Wilson had taken this as the encouragement he wanted and plundered House's mouth before descending down his neck with a line of biting kisses. When he reached the collar of House's shirt, the older man grabbed him and pulled him up.

House first kissed Wilson after an argument.


	5. Last

**005. Last**

Last Chance

It was eleven o'clock in the morning and James Wilson was doing some of the interminable paperwork that always seemed to end up on his desk when the phone call from Lisa Cuddy came.

"Have you seen Dr House?" she asked without preamble and Wilson frowned slightly.

"Last time I saw him was last night. Why?"

"He hasn't come in yet today."

"That's…unusual. He hasn't called?"

"Would I be calling you if he had?" Cuddy replied rather tartly.

"Oh, of course," Wilson replied a little abashed. "I'll…go and find him."

"Thank you," came the brisk answer before Cuddy hung up the phone.

The trip to House's apartment didn't take long and soon Wilson was ringing the doorbell. When that proved unsuccessful, he banged on the door and called House's name. When _that_ didn't elicit a response, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and selected the one that opened the door in front of him.

When he walked in the first thing that struck him was the figure of House lying slumped over the keyboard of the piano.

"House?" he said with almost stupid hesitancy. "Greg?"

He made his suddenly heavy feet carry him over to the piano and reached out with a shaking hand to touch the back of House's neck. It was cold and his hand almost automatically slipped around to feel for the carotid artery. Nothing. No pulse.

This was when he noticed three things. First was the bottle of Vicodin he'd given his friend yesterday that was sitting on top of the piano. It was empty. The second was the bottle of very expensive scotch he'd bought for his friend for his last birthday that was sitting next to the pill bottle. It too was empty. The third was a single piece of paper that was resting next to the two bottles.

Wilson reached out with his shaking hand and picked up the piece of paper.

_It hurts, James. I can't do this anymore._

_Love,_

_Greg_

Wilson stared down at the second last word and his thoughts inexorably turned to the previous night. He knew the note did not solely refer to House's leg. It had been there again, lying between them, tacitly acknowledged but never spoken of. He'd seen it smothered in House's eyes then seen it flare along with hope when he'd spoken of Julie's leaving and his now-pending divorce. But he'd ignored it blithely and watched as the hope died and the love was hidden once again.

His eyes stuttered over to the slumped body of his friend.

"You should have told me it was my last chance," he murmured in the still silence as the piece of paper fell from his fingers and drifted to the floor. "I wouldn't have let it slip."


	6. Patient

**006. Patient**

Listen

Wilson stood at the end of the bed in ICU, listening to the beeping of the machines and the hissing of the ventilator that was keeping House alive and staring down at the still form on the bed. He'd received a phone call from Princeton-Plainsboro at 11pm telling him that House had been brought in unconscious and badly hurt. He'd been named as House's emergency contact and medical proxy and he was needed to make decisions regarding treatment.

He'd arrived at the hospital to find that House had been clipped by a drunk driver while riding his motorbike. He had internal injuries and broken bones and needed immediate surgery. Several of the broken bones were in his legs; in particular his right femur had been broken in two places. The surgeons had wanted to know whether it was worth saving the leg considering the pre-existing damage. Wilson had swallowed the urge to yell at them and had simply told them to save the leg at all costs.

The surgery had been dicey and House's heart had stopped beating halfway through. The surgeons had managed to get it started again but now House lay here in the ICU, hooked up to far too many machines and with little idea of when or even if he would wake again.

"You should get some rest. You worked all day yesterday and you've been here all night."

Lisa Cuddy's oddly gentle voice startled him and he turned to see her standing in the doorway to the ICU.

"No," he said quietly. "No, I should stay."

Cuddy ventured over and stood next to him. She looked down at the man who was simultaneously the most annoying man she had ever known and the hospital's prized possession.

"He'll be fine. He's stubborn," she said with a certainty she wasn't sure she felt. "He's the most stubborn, pig-headed man I know."

Wilson didn't trust himself to speak and just nodded. Cuddy laid a hand on his shoulder briefly then turned and walked out of the room. Wilson didn't watch her go.

"Dr Wilson?"

He turned his head to see one of the ICU nurses.

"I'm not leaving," he said firmly.

The nurse looked at him with a practised eye then nodded. "You need some sleep, Dr Wilson," she said as she left.

Wilson gave a mirthless snort then walked around to sit next to the bed. He reached out and took House's limp hand in his own, his thumb gently caressing the back in a repetitive motion. With his other hand he reached out and gently brushed the bandage on House's forehead.

"I told you that damn bike was dangerous," he muttered, his voice cracking and wavering.

He fell into silence again as he continued to stroke House's hand and monitor the machines. About an hour later he was interrupted by the nurse who had come in before.

"Dr Wilson?" she said quietly. "There are some people outside who'd like to speak to you."

"Who?" Wilson asked without taking his eyes away from his friend.

"Mrs Warner, Drs Chase, Cameron and Foreman," the nurse replied.

Wilson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He placed House's hand back onto the bed and stood, brushing one hand gently over the unconscious man's hair. He then walked out of the room with a nod to the nurse.

"James, what happened?" Stacy asked the moment he emerged.

"He was out on that stupid bike and a drunk driver clipped him," Wilson said with distraught bitterness.

Stacy closed her eyes and covered her mouth with one hand.

"How bad?" Chase asked sombrely.

"Internal injuries, broken bones," Wilson replied. "The surgery went well despite him arresting in the middle of it. He's on a ventilator right now but they're hoping to take him off that later today when he's stronger." He paused. "Thank god he was wearing a helmet or it would have been far worse."

Tears welled in Cameron's eyes and Chase laid a hand on her shoulder. Foreman stared down at his shoes.

"I'm going back in," Wilson said into the silence. "I don't want him to be alone."

With that he turned on his heel and headed for the door into the ICU.

"You'll let us know when anything happens?" Stacy asked as he opened the door.

Wilson paused and nodded. "Of course."

He returned to his seat next to House's bed and watched as the nurse finished taking his vitals. She then gave him a solemn smile and left him alone. He took House's hand again.

"You made Cameron cry, you know," he murmured with something akin to grim humour. "At least it's for a good reason. I think there might be something going on or about to go on between her and Chase. Of course, I could be wrong." He paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Dammit, Greg. Don't do this to me. You were supposed to wake up over two hours ago."

He tightened his grip on House's hand and ran his free hand through his hair.

"I'd yell at you about that damn bike but I know you won't listen to me," he continued softly. "When do you ever listen to me?"

He was about to continue when the hand in his twitched slightly.

"Greg?" he said urgently, coming to his feet and leaning forward to look at his friend's face. The hand twitched again. "Greg, can you open your eyes?"

House's fingers curled slightly around his then his eyes fluttered slowly, almost reluctantly open. Wilson smiled into the dull blue eyes.

"Don't try and talk, Greg," he said gently. "You're on a ventilator. They're going to take that out soon."

House's hand squeezed his more firmly this time.

"I'm going to go and get the nurse," Wilson said, his smile widening. "I'll be back in a minute."

He moved to go but found his hand gripped tightly. He looked back at House and saw the worry and growing panic in his eyes.

"I won't be long," Wilson said reassuringly then frowned as House made a tiny movement of his head and his other hand twitched in the direction of his leg.

"Your leg's still there," he said with sudden understanding. "Your femur was broken in two places. They've pinned it and you're pretty doped up. The epidural they gave you is probably also still working. That's why you can't feel much. You know I wouldn't let them take your leg."

House closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them Wilson saw the relief. He gave House's hand a squeeze.

"Let me get the nurse and we can get that tube out of your throat," Wilson said almost roguishly. "I'm dying hear those dulcet tones of yours again."

This time House let him go, the barest of smiles flitting across his face, and Wilson hurried out to find the nurse. House's surgeon was paged and within half an hour the ventilator had been removed and the surgeon pronounced himself pleased with House's progress. Once he and the nurse had left, Wilson sat down next to the bed again.

"What happened?" House rasped and Wilson reached for the cup of ice chips the nurse had left.

House grimaced at the solicitude but rather wearily let Wilson place a few of the chips in his mouth.

"You got hit by a drunk driver," Wilson said in reply to House's question as he placed the cup back down on the table. "You don't remember?"

House frowned in thought then shook his head. "No."

Wilson nodded, worry in his eyes. "I suppose that's not much of a surprise." He shifted in his chair and sighed. "Get some sleep, Greg. You need it."

"So do you," House rasped, his eyes fixed on Wilson's face.

Wilson smiled wryly. "I know but I can last a little longer. Go to sleep."

House scowled but sleep was already dragging him down whether he liked it or not. He forced his eyes open for a moment longer and groped for Wilson's hand, holding it tightly when he found it.

"Always listen to you," he murmured as his eyes started to slip closed again. "Only one worth listening to. 'S why I trust you. 'S why I care."

The last was slurred but still understandable.

Wilson bit his lip as House slept and tears welled in his eyes. House would never say something like that lightly and for the first time he realised that maybe this friendship wasn't as screwed up as he'd once thought.


	7. Hospital

**007. Hospital**

Gossip and Truth

House liked to walk, or rather limp, the corridors of the hospital. It wasn't very good for his leg but it did provide him with almost endless amusement. As long as he looked like he wasn't paying attention, people would continue talking as he went past and at his pace and with his sharp hearing that meant he usually managed to hear quite a lot of gossip.

Lately some of the best gossip had surrounded the supposedly burgeoning relationship between Chase and Cameron. He hadn't noticed anything himself but the gossipmongers in the hospital seemed certain that _something_ was going on between them. House made a mental note to keep a closer eye on those two to see if the rumours were right. If they were then the possibilities for entertainment were endless especially since both Chase and Cameron had a tendency to react to his goading. Foreman was far more stoic and unflappable and House was always searching for ways of prodding a reaction out of him.

He came to a halt and sat down in one of his favourite listening spots. The chairs sat just on one side of a corner and there was a nurse's station just around that corner. He couldn't stretch out his legs for fear that either the nurses would know he was there and shut up or that someone coming around the corner could bump them but that seemed a small price to pay for what he usually managed to overhear. He settled down into a comfortable position in the chair and titled his head back as he listened in to what the nurses were talking about today.

"Oh, come on," one of them was saying with tired amusement. "That's an old rumour. I've been here for years and I can tell you that it's _always_ reappearing and it's _never_ true. Besides, Dr Wilson's married."

House's ears pricked up at the sound of Wilson's name then his eyes narrowed as he continued to listen.

"Didn't you hear?" one of the other nurses said knowingly. "He's getting divorced. Sally up in Oncology told me yesterday."

"That still doesn't mean that the rumour's true," the first nurse said almost condescendingly. "It starts every year when we get a influx of new people and they see the way Dr House and Dr Wilson act with each other. They _always_ make the same assumption that there's something going on between the two of them and they're _always_ wrong."

"What if I could prove the rumour was right?" said a slyly amused voice that had been silent up until now and House tensed slightly.

"How?" the other two nurses said in unison, sounding intrigued.

"Well, you know I was one late shift two nights ago?" the sly voice said, sounding like she was grinning. "I was up near Diagnostic Medicine and you know what that place is like."

"All that glass," the first nurse said. "Must be like working in a fishbowl. Can't imagine how they deal with it."

"Exactly," the sly nurse said. "And Dr Wilson's office is right next door to Dr House's and they share that balcony."

"Will you get on with it, Susan?" the second voice said impatiently. "You're killing us here."

"You need more patience, Carmen," the sly nurse, obviously Susan, said with a laugh. "Well, I was walking past and I looked through the windows. I wanted to see whether the sun had set yet but I saw something _far_ more interesting."

"What?" Carmen demanded.

"Dr House and Dr Wilson were standing on the balcony," Susan said with a fine sense of the dramatic. "And they were _kissing_. And not peck on the cheek or buss on the forehead but genuine tonsil examining, wrapped around each other, if-we-had-a-bed-we'd-be-getting-it-on-right-now _kissing_."

There was a moment of dead silence and House let out a resigned sigh. He should have known they'd never be able to keep it secret. He grinned. Particularly when he kept pushing at Wilson's 'no fooling around at work' rule the way he did.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two rather squeaky voices saying, "_Really_?"

"Yep," Susan said smugly.

"Oh…my..._god_," Carmen said with excitement. "That's so…_adorable_!"

"_Adorable_?" the first nurse said incredulously as House rolled his eyes then she snorted. "Well, I suppose you might be right. Who'd have thought after all these years that rumour would turn out to be true?"

"I wonder how long they've been together?" Carmen mused.

"Who cares?" the first nurse said. "Though it does explain why Dr House has been in a good mood…well, good for him…lately. I was starting to suspect he'd been replaced by a pod person but I daresay Dr Wilson could have that effect on anyone, even Dr House." There was a moment of silence then she continued in a more professional tone. "Come on, you two. We've got patients to take care of."

There was a chorus of giggles then House heard the sound of footsteps moving away from the nurse's station. The reason for the sudden bout of professionalism _and_ the chorus of giggles was revealed when Wilson came round the corner.

"There you are," the oncologist said with a raised eyebrow. He knew why House was sitting here. "What's put that expression on your face? Was the gossip that good?"

House looked contemplative. "You could say that," he said idly. "It seems our secret's out."

Wilson's eyes widened. "What? How?"

House's expression became one of pure mischief. "We should stop kissing on the balcony in front of my office. Apparently it's a fish bowl."


	8. Fear

**008. Fear**

I Must Not Fear

"My patient is phobic," Wilson said with a mix of frustration and exasperation as he dropped into the chair in front of House's desk.

"Phobic about what?" House asked, looking interested.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's more a matter of what she's _not_ afraid of."

"Is it genuine?" House asked suspiciously.

"As far as I can tell, yes," Wilson replied. "Her anxiety attacks are certainly genuine and her psychiatrist confirmed it. He said he's never treated someone with as many phobias as her."

"So keep whatever she's afraid of away from her," House said with a shrug.

"She's afraid of doctors," Wilson replied.

A smile flickered across House's face. "That's a problem." He paused and cocked his head to one side. "What's that one called?"

"Iatrophobia," Wilson replied. "I looked it up."

"Take off your lab coat," House suggested. "Then you won't look so much like a doctor."

"Except she's also afraid of cancer," Wilson said. "Carcinophobia."

House snorted. "Everyone's afraid of cancer. That one doesn't count."

"Her anxiety attacks say it does," Wilson countered. "She's also afraid of taking drugs. Pharmacophobia."

"Just as well I don't have that one," House said as he pulled his pill bottle out and swallowed a Vicodin.

"I thought about asking you to speak to her but she also suffers from pogonophobia," Wilson said blandly. House frowned at him and he grinned and said, "Fear of beards. That scruff of yours probably counts."

House looked insulted. "I thought you liked my stubble?"

Wilson flashed him a grin. "It's very manly," he said dryly. "You also get counted out because she's afraid of criticism. That one's enissophobia." He paused. "I suppose the only saving grace is she doesn't suffer from nosocomephobia."

House's eyes narrowed. "Fear of hospitals?"

Wilson nodded. "But she does suffer from trypanophobia. Fear of injections."

House actually started laughing at that one. "So what are you going to do?"

"Her psychiatrist is coming in," Wilson replied, a smile curving his lips. He didn't often manage to make House laugh but he always viewed it as a victory if he did. "Apparently he knows a way to convince her to have treatment."

House snorted. "Sedate her. That's what I'd do. If she's not awake, she can't be afraid."

"That's our last resort," Wilson replied. "Since she doesn't suffer from somnophobia, it'll work. But her psychiatrist would rather we try other options first. It might get a little inconvenient to have to sedate her every time she has a treatment."

"Have fun," House said dryly. "And let me know if she has any other interesting phobias."

Wilson got to his feet and grinned. "Did you know she suffers from philemaphobia?" he said as he walked around to the other side of the desk.

House leaned back in his chair. "And what might that be?"

Wilson leaned down until his face was close to House's. "Fear of kissing."

He moved forward a fraction more and watched as House's eyes flickered. Then he pulled back and walked out of the office, grinning at House's muffled curse.


	9. Puzzle

**009. Puzzle**

Dinner

House watched curiously as Wilson walked out of the office. His friend had been acting oddly for the last couple of weeks and House hadn't yet been able to figure out why. At first he'd thought it was because of the stress of the divorce but Julie was being quite decent about the whole thing and the process was running smoothly. He'd then thought that maybe Wilson had a case or two that was impacting on him more than usual but a few discreet enquiries by his team had ascertained that that wasn't the case. Just plain old ordinary cancer patients at the moment.

He didn't think it was anything _he'd_ done either. He'd had his normal number of run-ins with Cuddy, tried his normal tactics to avoid clinic duty and paged Wilson for non-existent consults so they could watch TV together the usual number of times. His patient was boring and getting better and his team were working together smoothly at the moment. He wasn't annoying arrogant billionaires or goading patient's parents into hitting him or even being sued by anyone. And Stacy had seemed to have finally worked out that he _wasn't_ overly pleased to see her all the time and was staying out of his way…mostly thus reducing his snapping at all and sundry when he tried to avoid her.

He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his chest as he turned his mind to the curious behaviour Wilson had been exhibiting and decided to try and find a cause for it. Wilson had started being oddly hesitant in his presence, like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite work out how to do so. Wilson had been giving him odd looks when he thought he wasn't watching. Wilson had started edging into his personal space more so than usual. Wilson had asked him out to dinner tonight.

That last one caused his mental ruminations to stutter to a halt. Wilson had asked him out to dinner. He hadn't been giving his full attention to the other man as he'd been reading a file Wilson had brought him but he seen and heard enough. He'd seen that expression on Wilson's face before and he'd heard that tone of voice before…just never before directed at him. Wilson had asked him out to dinner tonight…on a _date_.

House blinked then grinned and tossed the file on his desk. He grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He limped out onto the balcony and after seeing that Wilson was alone in his office, he went in.

"House, what's up?" Wilson asked casually as House limped up to him.

"I worked it out," House replied, his eyes intent.

Wilson froze momentarily. "Worked what out?" he asked warily though House could see the hope lurking in his eyes.

House grabbed Wilson's tie and pulled him forward into a searing kiss. When he pulled back, he let the tie go and ran his hand along Wilson's now flushed cheek.

"You asked me out on a date," he said with almost impish amusement as he headed for the door. "I hope you know I don't put out on the first date."

The door had nearly closed before Wilson recovered enough to reply.

"I'm sure I can convince you otherwise," drifted through the almost closed door and House grinned. Wilson was probably right.


	10. Arrogance

**010. Arrogance**

Antonyms

Chase, Cameron and Foreman were sitting around the table in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, studiously ignoring their boss' office where he and Wilson seemed to be having some sort of argument. Cameron was pretending to read a file while Foreman was apparently reading the paper. Chase was staring at one of his crosswords but his eyes were flicking over to the office on a regular basis.

"Seven letter word for opposite," he said into the room.

"House and Wilson," Foreman replied grumpily.

Chase snickered. "Well, good point but that's more than seven letters."

"Antonym," Cameron said with a disapproving glance at Foreman.

Chase frowned. "Antonym? Are you sure that means opposite?"

"Yes, synonym means the same, antonym means opposite," Cameron replied then her lips twitched. "A synonym would be House and arrogant. An antonym would be House and Wilson…arrogance and humility."

Both men looked up at Cameron with speculative glances.

"I thought he was _confident_, not arrogant," Foreman prodded her.

Cameron gave him a flat look then turned back to her file.

Foreman grinned at Chase. "So what would be the definition of House and Cuddy?"

Chase laughed. "Volatile?" he suggested.

"Innuendo," Foreman offered as Cameron studiously ignored them.

"House and Foreman?" Chase asked mischievously.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Exasperated."

"Synonym," Cameron said, giving Foreman an amused glance and drawing a laugh from Chase.

Foreman scowled. "House and Chase," he said almost belligerently. "Irrelevant."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Tense."

Foreman snickered. "House and Cameron," he said slyly, shooting another look at Cameron.

"None of your business," Cameron said tartly, not looking up from her file.

Chase's gaze flickered over to the office again then his jaw dropped. "Uh, got a new definition for House and Wilson. Involved."

Foreman and Cameron frowned at him then followed his gaze to find House and Wilson had stopped arguing in House's office and were now kissing, House with a firm grip on Wilson's tie and Wilson with one hand lying on top of House's on the handle of his cane. Their jaws fell open and they blinked rapidly as though unable to believe what they were seeing.

"Nine letter word for what we're seeing," Chase said weakly.

"Confusing," Cameron replied.


	11. Red

**011. Red**

Do We Have A Deal?

Wilson sauntered into House's office to find his friend lounging in his chair, destroying small electronic critters on his Gameboy and wearing the red shirt he liked so much. Thankfully the time it took to walk over and sit down was enough to allow him to recover his coherency. House looked up as he sat down and a wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. He knew the effect this shirt had on Wilson which was part of the reason he wore it. He returned his attention to the Gameboy.

"Something I can help you with, Dr Wilson?" he said archly.

"You do this just to torment me," Wilson replied blandly.

House raised an eyebrow, his attention still riveted on his game. "I do many things to torment you. Which one are we talking about this time?"

Wilson shot a quick look over to where Chase, Foreman and Cameron were working in the other room.

"Wear that shirt," Wilson said intently.

A grin flickered across House's face. "What? This old thing? Besides you would have known what I was wearing if you'd come in with me this morning. It doesn't take as long to get here."

Wilson's face became set. "I am not getting on that bike. They're dangerous."

"They're hot," House countered. "Besides, you'd look good in a leather jacket."

Wilson swallowed hard at the thought of House in his leather jacket and he looked around to find it slung over the chair in the corner.

"You could get killed riding that bike," Wilson said flatly.

"I could get killed driving my car," House said, starting to look slightly hurt. "We could have _fun_ on the bike."

Wilson looked sceptical then House gave him a wicked look and his breath caught suddenly.

"Tell you what," House said as he gave up on the game and tossed the Gameboy onto the desk. "You come for a ride with me on the bike and I'll wear this shirt whenever you want." He paused and gave Wilson a lascivious leer. "However you want. Wherever you want."

Wilson licked his suddenly dry lips. That was an offer almost too good to be true and his libido began a short, sharp and very ferocious fight with his better sense. His eyes drifted down to the red shirt again and his better sense abruptly conceded the field of battle.

"The shirt. _Just_ the shirt, tonight, our bed. _I'm_ in charge."

House's eyes darkened with a sudden squall of lust and desire. "Deal," he said as he grabbed his cane and his keys. "Dump the lab coat. Let's go."

Wilson stood and slowly stripped off his white coat as House limped over and pulled on his leather jacket. For just a second his better sense had some second thoughts then House turned and gave him a rakish grin and his libido pounded his good sense into submission again.

House limped over and flicked a quick glance out at his team before running a light hand over Wilson's arse.

"Let's ride, loverboy," he said, his eyes alight with enthusiasm and amusement.

Wilson rolled his eyes and followed House out of the office. One of these days he was going to have a long conversation with both his libido _and_ his good sense and find out why he always seemed to get into these situations when it came to House. His eyes drifted down to House's denim clad arse and he swallowed hard. Maybe that conversation wouldn't be necessary.


	12. Grey

**012. Grey**

Shades of Grey

"They've got the same symptoms!" Chase objected. "You can't give them different treatments."

House rolled his eyes as he limped back and forth in front of the whiteboard. "I think we've had this conversation before."

"And a baby died," Chase replied heatedly.

"And five others survived," House shot back. "It was our only option then, it's our only option now. Stop arguing with me when you know I'm right and go and do what I told you to do."

Chase glared at him for a moment then he turned as stormed out of the conference room, Foreman and Cameron following in a more circumspect manner. House waited until they were out of sight then limped into his office and sat down heavily. He titled his head back and stared at the ceiling, not moving when the door to his office opened.

"What did you do to annoy Chase now?" Wilson asked with mild humour. "I passed him in the corridor. He looked like he wanted to strangle you, which is more what I expect from Foreman."

House grimaced. "He's having one of his idealistic moments when he thinks everything is black and white. Right and wrong. Good and evil."

Wilson gave a cynical snort. "A few more years should get that out of his system."

House looked over at his friend in surprise. "Well, that was disturbingly cynical coming from you."

"I have a patient who is refusing treatment because it's against her religion," Wilson said sourly, scrubbing his face with one hand. "We've caught the cancer early. It's treatable. Six months of treatment and she should be fine. But her religion forbids it for some reason."

House frowned. "Well, that's just stupid."

"Not in her eyes," Wilson replied. "She thinks it's perfectly sensible. Who am I to tell her she's wrong?"

"An oncologist who knows better than she does," House said brusquely.

"She thinks prayer will cure her," Wilson said with a sigh. "Who's to say it won't? Not everything is black and white."

House snorted. "Shades of grey," he muttered.

Wilson smiled sadly. "That's what life is."


	13. White

**013. White**

I Care

The white lab coat shone bright against the black of the road. Lights flashed red and blue lending an eerie quality to the scene. People rushed back and forth; paramedics, fire fighters, police. Bystanders stood at a respectful distance behind the tape the police had strung up and murmured to each other as they viewed the crumpled wreck of a car wrapped around the light pole.

House limped desperately towards the milling crowd, shoving his way through the bystanders. It was the lab coat that brought him to a halt. The pristine white lab coat, still with pocket protector intact, lying on the black road like a discarded skin. He froze as he stared down at it and felt himself begin to shiver. He took a deep breath and resolutely pressed on.

"Sir! Sir, you can't come through here!"

He ignored the voice and continued limping towards the mangled car.

"Sir!" The voice seemed to possess a hand. It grabbed his arm, halting him with a painful jerk, and he looked over, trying to summon up a glare.

"Sir, this is an accident scene," the young policeman said firmly. "You can't be here."

House stared at him for a moment. "It's Wilson," he said finally.

The policeman looked confused then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. You can't stay here. Please go back behind the tape."

House stared at him, not understanding the words, and the policeman began to apply gentle pressure to his arm to get him to move.

"Wait!"

Both House and the policeman looked over to where the call had come from. A paramedic came hurrying over, looking at House.

"Are you Greg?" he asked urgently.

House nodded and the paramedic grabbed at his other arm.

"He's asking for you. He's worked up. I think your presence might help keep him calm while they cut him out."

The policeman let go of him and the paramedic led him over to the driver's side of the wreck of a car. House swallowed hard and winced as he saw the result of the crash. The front of the car had been crushed backwards and Wilson's legs were surely pinned underneath all that metal. The door and the steering wheel had already been removed but House could see the marks that had been left on Wilson's chest by the steering wheel through the half-open shirt. A head wound had already been bandaged and Wilson was looking pale and agitated.

House limped over and slowly, painfully, lowered himself to the ground to bring himself level with his friend.

"Wilson," he said, reaching for his friend's hand.

Wilson grabbed it with relief and looked over at House, not only was he pale but sweat was beading on his forehead and his face was twisted with pain.

"Greg," he gasped, calming as his hand closed convulsively around House's. "Hurts."

House gave Wilson and quick once over and tried to hide the wince when he saw how tightly the other man's legs were pinned. Wilson had followed his gaze and he gave a breathy, pain-filled laugh.

"Can't feel them," he said between short, choppy breaths. "But everything else hurts. And I'm tired."

He closed his eyes and House squeezed his hand hard. "Don't you go to sleep on me," he demanded and Wilson's eyes popped open.

"Are you alright there, Greg?" The paramedic was back and he laid a hand on House's shoulder. House nodded and the paramedic patted his shoulder. "I'm going to move your cane out of the way so that the fire fighters can start cutting James free. You stay where you are. We'll work around you. Put this on though."

The paramedic draped a spare fire fighter's coat over House's shoulder then hurried around to the other side of the car, climbing in a checking the IV that had been placed in Wilson's arm. House shrugged into the coat then grabbed Wilson's hand again.

"What happened?" he asked as several fire fighters stepped forward and started working on the front of the car.

"Julie called," Wilson said, his voice sounding a bit faint. "Had her on hands free. She wants a divorce. I think I got distracted."

House's lips curled into a snarl. "Damn her!" he muttered. "You don't tell someone that when they're driving."

"Don't think she cared," Wilson replied, the words dropping out of his mouth. "Can't remember when she last cared. When anyone cared."

The paramedic, who had been monitoring Wilson's breathing and heart rate, gave House a worried look.

"Give him something to care about or we'll lose him," he said tersely before backing partially out of the car and yelling something to the fire fighters.

House stared at what he could see of the paramedic with surprise then flinched as the sound of rending metal ripped through the air. The car jerked as the fire fighters removed part of the front and House looked back at Wilson.

"I…care," he said hesitantly as if only just realising this.

"What?" Wilson whispered, his eyes stuttering over to House's face. His pallor had increased and dimly House recognised the signs of significant blood loss.

"I care," House repeated, more firmly this time. "I care and if you go and die on me now, I'm going to resurrect you so that I can kill you."

Something lit up in Wilson's pain-filled eyes and a small smile creased his lips. "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" he said, his voice sounding a little stronger.

"Don't you worry about my logic," House said with airy dismissal.

The paramedic ducked back into the car and eyed Wilson. He gave House a nod of approval.

"They're about to move the last section," the paramedic said. "We're not entirely sure how much damage has been done to James' legs so we're going to have to move fast. How quickly can you get out of the way, Greg?"

"Don't worry about me," House said with a frown then he looked down as Wilson squeezed his hand.

"Be careful," Wilson said with concern.

"Worry about yourself for once," House said with impatience.

Wilson's lips quirked. "I care as well."

House's expression softened and he gently brushed Wilson's hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"They're ready," the paramedic said, bracing Wilson on one side.

House reached in and braced him on the other then, on a count of three, the fire fighters shifted the remaining section of the car. Wilson paled and let out a gasping scream as the weight was shifted off his legs. House briefly caught a glimpse of torn flesh and even a glint of white bone before he shoved himself away with a pained grunt to allow the other paramedics access. In fairly short order they had Wilson out of the car and onto a gurney and were wheeling him towards the waiting ambulance. House crawled to his feet and looked around frantically for his cane.

"Here it is," came the voice of the paramedic as he pressed the cane into House's hand. "I've told them you're to go with him."

"Thank you," House said before he limped after the gurney. The paramedic in the ambulance helped him climb in then they were speeding off.

"Which hospital are we going to?" House asked as he leaned forward to help the paramedic.

"Princeton-Plainsboro," the paramedic said tersely. "What are you doing?"

"I'm a doctor," House replied equally tersely and the paramedic nodded and let him continue. They could hear the driver radioing the details in the background.

"Play nicely with the other kids, Greg," Wilson muttered, his voice slurred.

House leaned forward and brushed a hand down Wilson's cheek. "Don't I always?"

Wilson let out a breathy, pained laugh. "No. You have…trouble sharing."

The paramedic grinned over at House. "We could have a tantrum right now if you like. I don't share well either." He glanced down at Wilson, who was laughing softly though painfully, then murmured quietly, "Can understand why you don't want to share though."

House's reply was interrupted by their arrival at the hospital and he was forced to move aside while the paramedics rushed Wilson out. He grabbed his cane and painfully climbed down from the ambulance, following them in. The doctors and nurses in the ER swarmed around the gurney, shifting him onto a bed then starting with their treatment. House started towards the swarm but was stopped by Lisa Cuddy.

"Let them work," she said gently. "They know what they're doing. Besides, Chase is there. You trust him, don't you?"

House looked over to see that she was right. The blond Australian doctor was working intently, talking quietly to Wilson as he did so.

"Trust him? No," House said with a scowl. "But I suppose he knows what he's doing most of the time."

Cuddy kept one hand on his arm as they watched. It didn't take long before Wilson was being taken up to an operating theatre then Chase walked over and joined them.

"His legs have been chewed up a bit but they should be able to repair all the damage," he said as soon as he got to them. He had read House's expression accurately and knew that his boss was not interested in questions or niceties. "He's probably got a couple of broken ribs but they'll do x-rays on the way to the operating theatre. It doesn't look like there's any internal bleeding."

House nodded his thanks then shook himself free of Cuddy's hand and limped off. He watched the operation through from the viewing room and was surprised when the surgeon turned to him at the end and gave him a thumbs up. He blinked then nodded his thanks. The wait until Wilson was moved into a room was interminable but finally he was seated next to Wilson's bed, his cane leaning against the wall and his head resting in his hands.

"You're still here," came Wilson's quiet rasping voice and he raised his head with a smile lingering around his lips.

"Your legs are going to be fine," House said. "We're going to be able to have cripple races for a while though."

"No fair. You'll win," Wilson murmured as he groped for House's hand. "More experience."

House took the hand that was reaching for his and stared down their hands for a moment.

"You get to throw the cane away in the end," he said quietly, his face tense.

Wilson waited silently until House looked up at him. "I'll keep the cripple though."

House felt something inside him relax and he smiled at his friend. Wilson smiled back, his white teeth flashing briefly, and they settled into a comfortable, promising silence.


	14. Black

**014. Black**

Always

House leaned against the balcony and stared out into the night. His mood matched the dark sky; his patient had died because they hadn't been able to figure out what was wrong with her and now her husband was threatening to sue even though _he_ didn't know what was wrong with her either. Cuddy was furious with him because he hadn't helped the situation by taking some of his frustration out on the stupid man therefore making Cuddy's job of soothing the waters far more difficult. She'd retaliated by assigning him more clinic hours though she insisted they were in fact the hours he should have worked last week. Then Stacy had spoken to him about the case and it had taken most of his fraying self-control not to yell at her. Her irritated and slightly condescending tone of voice had shredded his remaining nerves.

He felt more than saw Wilson arrive though his black mood did not lift even when the younger man leaned on the balcony next to him, their shoulders brushing. Wilson stared out into the night alongside him and they were silent, Wilson's warmth bleeding through to his arm.

"I had two thank me today," Wilson said in a melancholy tone. "But I think you get a rebate for once all things considered."

House didn't reply and Wilson turned so that his back was to the night and he looked into House's face.

"What happened?" he asked patiently as he picked up on House's mood.

"Cuddy. _Stacy_," House said shortly, his gaze never shifting from the distant spot he was staring at.

Wilson nodded slowly. He liked Stacy as a person but he hated the effect she had on House. He wished Cuddy hadn't offered her that job, that she'd taken her husband and disappeared off to wherever she had gone after her relationship with House had fallen apart. She still loved House in some way and he knew that House still loved _her_ in some way. But House also hated her, distrusted her. She had betrayed him and he would never, _could_ never forgive that. And every time he had to deal with her on an extended basis, his mood darkened. Wilson hated that; House's mood was rarely _happy_ but at least with Wilson it was often light and even playful.

He sighed softly and let his hand rest on House's arm. House's eyes finally moved at this; they stuttered down to where Wilson's hand lay, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth. They then shifted up to Wilson's face and the oncologist sighed again at the turbulence present in those blue eyes.

"Let's go," Wilson said softly. "I'll buy the food, you pay for the beer."

House stared at him for a moment longer then slowly some of the turbulence settled and calmed and House nodded. He grabbed his cane and headed for his office. Wilson briefly let one hand brush House's shoulder before he turned for his own office to get his bag. House turned at the touch and a small smile briefly lifted the ends of his mouth.

"Thank you," he said before opening the door.

"Always," Wilson replied.


	15. Blue

**015. Blue**

Taking A Chance

"_Bear in mind Cameron's probably the only female that can tolerate you. Wear the sky-blue shirt. It almost makes you look nice."_

Cuddy's words from before his excruciatingly uncomfortable _date_ with Cameron echoed around House's mind as he sat at the piano and played a few random notes. He snorted with sour amusement. She was probably right; Cameron probably was the only female that could tolerate him though not for reasons that made him at all comfortable. He wondered what Cuddy would have said if he'd told her that he didn't give a damn about Cameron. He snorted again; he wondered what _Cameron_ would think.

The reason for his indifference was currently sitting on his couch, drinking beer and eating pizza…and making off-hand comments about his shirt. Hence the thoughts that were now rambling through his mind. He couldn't quite remember when his feelings for Wilson had gone from friendship to some more but he found it perfectly typical of himself that they would. He always seemed to want things he couldn't have.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

Wilson's voice broke through his thoughts and he started, his fingers slipping and striking a few clashing notes.

"The Mets," he said sharply. "They're going to have a hell of a season."

"Uh huh," Wilson said, sounding unconvinced. "Wanna try again?"

"Nope," House replied, letting his fingers drift into the melodies of Moon River.

Wilson put his beer down and got to his feet, ambling over and leaning against the piano. "You were fine until I mentioned your shirt," he observed.

House ignored him, almost ostentatiously concentrating on what he was doing. Wilson's fingers drifted over House's shoulder for a second, making him draw in a small breath.

"Wasn't this the shirt that Cuddy told you to wear for your date with Cameron?"

House made an indistinct sound as he modulated into Nat King Cole's Unforgettable. Wilson snorted with amusement as he recognised the tune.

"I suppose it was," he said with a small smile. "Though not for reasons Cameron would have liked."

"She likes me because I'm damaged," House almost snarled, in contrast with the mellow music that was flowing from his hands.

Wilson let his hand rest on House's shoulder. "She's young. She'll learn."

"Not with me," House replied firmly.

"Good," Wilson muttered.

House barely heard it over the sound of the music and he stopped and stared at Wilson sharply. "What?"

Wilson froze and his hand tightly almost imperceptibly on House's shoulder. "Er, nothing."

House felt an odd hope rise in his chest and almost ruthlessly shoved it down again. "Why was it good?" he demanded softly.

Wilson stared at him, his face unusually blank, his eyes clouded. Then his face cleared and warmed, his eyes full of amusement and something House could only hope was desire.

"Why was it good?" he said. "Because I don't want you to be with her."

"Could have fooled me," House said letting that hope rise this time.

A small smile quirked Wilson's lips. "Had to give her…and you…a chance."

"She's had her chance," House said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

The smile widened. "Yes, she has. I guess it's my chance now."

House barely had time to acknowledge that before Wilson's lips descended on his, the kiss warm and tender. He felt Wilson's tongue flicker over his lips and he eagerly opened his lips before burying one hand in Wilson's hair and claiming control of the kiss, deepening it and increasing the intensity. They were both a fraction breathless when they broke apart and Wilson sank down onto the piano seat as though his knees wouldn't entirely hold him up.

"You'd better not like me because I'm damaged," House said, his face filled with affection and humour.

Wilson snorted and leaned against him. "You're irritating because you're damaged. I like you because you're you."

House snorted at that then sobered. "It's mutual, you know?"

"I kind of guessed," Wilson replied as he leaned in for a second kiss.


	16. Lies

**016. Lies**

In Sickness And Health

Wilson stood outside the isolation ward of the Infectious Diseases department and stared through the glass. House and his team lay in beds inside the ward and the entire hospital was closed down and under strict quarantine. He felt someone come up beside him and he glanced over to find a stressed and worried Lisa Cuddy.

"He always says everybody lies," Wilson said, returning his gaze to the unconscious people in the room.

Cuddy snorted. "You'd think a _patient_ would tell the truth, especially about something like this."

Now it was Wilson's turn to snort. "You're assuming this was an accidental exposure."

"You think this was something to do with bioterrorism?" Cuddy asked with surprise.

"While _Y. pestis_ can be found in America, it is not usually found in the Eastern states," Wilson replied bitterly. "New Mexico, Utah, Colorado, Arizona certainly but not here."

"The CDC haven't said anything like that," Cuddy stated firmly. "It could have come from contact with an animal or a fleabite."

"But then it would have presented as _bubonic_ plague, not _pneumonic_ plague," Wilson replied flatly. "And why would he have hidden it? It's not like he can answer our questions, he's dead and he infected House and his team while he was at it."

Cuddy was silent for a while. "They were diagnosed and treatment was started within twenty-four hours of exposure," she said calmly. "They're being treated with a 2-drug regimen and they have the best of care. And considering how damn stubborn all four of them are, I have no doubts they will survive. Do you think any of them would rob us of the opportunity to experience how bad they are as patients?" She paused and gave Wilson a significant look. "Particularly House."

Wilson seemed to relax fractionally and he snorted softly. "You may have a point."

"They'll be fine," Cuddy said soothingly. "_He'll_ be fine."

Wilson stared into the room silently for a long, long moment, his gaze fixed on one person. "Yes, he will."


	17. Truth

**017. Truth**

Monolithic Walls

"You know one of these days you're going to have to tell me the truth," Wilson said from the couch.

It took all of House's self-control not to whip around and stare at the other man. He did stiffen though before he forced himself to relax and continue playing.

"What truth?"

Wilson sighed. "Never mind," he said quietly after a short pause. "If you can't even admit it to yourself then how the hell are you going to admit it to me?"

House winced at the tired, almost defeated note in Wilson's voice and his hands stilled. He turned slightly on the piano seat and looked over at his friend.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Aren't you sick of hiding?" Wilson replied. "Of ignoring it? Of living like this while I marry yet another wife?"

"I'm…bad at…at _that_," House said, a hint of a plea in his voice.

Wilson snorted. "And I'm any better? I'd like to think we could make it work though. We've made this friendship work, haven't we?"

House turned back to the piano without another word and he heard Wilson's sigh echo throughout the room.

"You're married," he said into the silence of the room.

"Not as of three o'clock today," Wilson replied.

House jerked slightly at that; he hadn't known but it did explain why Wilson had asked his question. He stared down to where his hands rested on his thighs.

"_Why_?"

"Because _I'm_ tired of hiding," Wilson said. "_I'm_ tired of ignoring it and I think three failed marriages is message enough for me." He paused then continued quietly. "Because I _want_ this and I was hoping you did too."

House continued staring down at his hands and swallowed hard. The ball was most emphatically in his court now; the decision was his. He could let everything continue the way it had been going; Wilson probably wouldn't fight him if that was his decision. Or he could finally admit to himself…and to Wilson…what he really wanted and enter a brave new world where he couldn't see the horizon. He was still staring down at his hands when he spoke.

"Yes."

Silence vibrated through the room for a moment then House heard the small clunk of a bottle hitting the table and then the sound of Wilson standing. He didn't hear the other man cross the room and as such he started when a hand cupped his chin and pulled his head up. Wilson's face was suffused with delight, desire and promise and House felt a smile pull at his lips. Wilson returned the smile then leaned down and kissed him.

The kiss was warm and passionate, full of promise and intensity and House felt like he'd finally come home. When they separated, House shifted awkwardly on the seat then got to his feet. Wilson wrapped his arms around him to steady him. House froze for a second then, in an almost convulsive move, he clutched at Wilson and shuddered. Wilson held him and gently rubbed his back; House had spent so long constructing the monolithic walls that surrounded him that this kind of reaction to the knocking down even a fraction of them was understandable.

When House's shudders died down, he pulled back slightly and looked at Wilson.

"I'm going to annoy you," he said in a slightly choked voice.

"You do that now," Wilson replied with amusement as he reached for House's cane and pressed it into his hand. "Stop trying to talk both of us out of this. I want this, you want this, deal with it."

House let out a soft huff of laughter. "Pushy."

"When I know what I want," Wilson replied, his expression becoming intent. He leaned forward and captured House's lips in a passionate, intense kiss. When he pulled back both men were gasping for breath. "Now shut up and come to bed."

House laughed as Wilson turned and stalked towards the bedroom. He followed with uncharacteristic obedience and a very amused, "Yes, dear."


	18. Consequences

**018. Consequences**

Reaction

Fury bubbled inside House as he pulled out of the car park and gunned the Corvette down the road. Cuddy had placed him on administrative leave for a week because of the complaints of his latest patient's family. He'd denied them access to his patient's room because their constant twittering had been agitating the young woman and it was vital that she remain calm. When they'd complained about that he'd been quite caustic but in his opinion perfectly justified. When they'd subsequently complained he'd expected Wilson, who had been present during the verbal altercation, to back him up but instead the oncologist had reluctantly taken the family's side much to his utter surprise.

Cuddy's decision had been an even bigger surprise; he'd expected her to overrule his decree and had been plotting ways to keep the family from agitating his patient when she'd dropped her bombshell. He'd been so shocked at what he viewed as a complete overreaction that he hadn't even argued. He'd just turned on his heel and limped out of her office. He'd headed straight back to his own office and packed his bag. When his team had questioned him, he'd refused to answer, only telling them to keep the girl calm and continue the treatment. He'd then stalked down to the car park, ignoring Wilson when he called his name.

He pulled into his car park in front of his apartment with a screech of tires and grabbed his cane and bag. He threw the door open and hauled himself out, slamming the door behind him. He stalked as best as he could towards his apartment, forgetting that the path was icy and that he'd had to almost edge his way to the car this morning.

His cane hit a patch of ice and slid, slipping out of his grasp. His leg, now lacking the support it needed, crumpled underneath him with a sudden searing stab of pain. His right knee struck the path with an audible crack as he reached out with his hands to brace his fall. Unfortunately they too hit the ice on the path and he was not able to gain any purchase. His right elbow thumped into the concrete, jarring his shoulder, then his head struck the ground and he blacked out.

He came round to the feeling of hands gently turning him onto his left side and bracing his bad leg.

"Goddammit, House," a voice muttered; it sounded like Wilson.

House groaned and tried to sit up, his eyes slowly opening to find it _was_ Wilson crouching next to him.

"Don't move," Wilson said, holding him down.

"Cold," House murmured as he struggled with the sudden nausea and pain that had surfaced at the small movement he'd made.

"I know," Wilson said soothingly as he kept House still. "I've called an ambulance. They'll be here soon."

"No," House muttered, trying to move again in his agitation.

"_Dammit, House! Don't move!_" Wilson said, his hands tightening their grip. "I could see you lying here when I drove up and that was ten minutes ago. You've probably got a concussion and who knows what damage you did when you fell. You're going to hospital to be checked out. What happened?"

"Ice," House said. "Cane slipped."

Wilson glanced at the path then down at his friend. "I don't understand. You're more careful than this."

House was silent as the nausea rose again and he battled it down. "Angry. Forgot it was there."

Wilson sighed and shifted slightly. "House, you can't accuse patient's parents of trying to kill their own daughter. You explain things to them or in your case you get one of your team to explain things. People _can_ be reasoned with. And then you refuse to apologise." He sighed again as they heard the sound of sirens approaching. "You left Cuddy with no other options. They were ready to sue."

The ambulance pulled up at that point and the paramedics jumped out and hurried over. Wilson had a quick conversation with them about House's pre-existing problem then one of them dropped to one knee next to House.

"Dr House?" he said briskly. "Other than your leg, where does it hurt?"

"Knee, arm, shoulder, head," House listed as the pain and nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

"Do you feel nauseous?" the paramedic asked as he slid a collar around House's neck.

"Yes," House replied as he started to shiver, the cold starting to penetrate the pain and nausea.

The paramedics quickly lifted him onto a gurney and covered him with a blanket before taking his pulse and blood pressure. They loaded him into the ambulance and told Wilson where they planned to take him. House let the trip pass in a haze, barely acknowledging the actions of the paramedic. When they got to the hospital, Wilson was at his side before they got through the doors and he tried to say something as he felt consciousness leave him once more.

He woke up again to the beeping sound of a heart monitor and he spent some time in the process of prying his eyes open. He mildly surprised to find that he was relatively pain free then he saw the IV drip in his arm and that question was answered. He then tipped his head back slightly and saw the heart monitor he could hear was indeed attached to him. Another shift of his head showed him Wilson sitting next to his bed, caught up in a file.

"So I'm still alive," he said in a croaky voice.

Wilson jumped and dumped the file on the floor next to him, looking over at House with relief.

"It's about time," he said. "You had us worried, House."

"I'll bet," House grumbled as he tried to push himself slightly more upright.

Wilson leaned forward and grabbed the controls for the bed, adjusting it so that House was sitting.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he put the control down again.

"Great drugs you've got me on," House grunted. "How bad?"

"Concussion though you've probably slept that out," Wilson replied, his lips thin with worry. "You've got a hairline fracture in your kneecap and a hell of a lot of bruising. You were lucky."

"Depends on your definition of lucky," House said sourly. "When can I go home?"

"You're in here for another day," Wilson said firmly. "Then I'll take you home. Cuddy's given me the time off."

"I don't need a baby-sitter," House snarled. "Besides, I thought you were on _her_ side."

Wilson gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not on her side. She asked me if you really did say what the family reported. I was _there_, House, I couldn't lie to her right in front of them. Besides, you _do_ need a baby-sitter. Those bruises are going to _hurt_ once they take you off the drugs."

"Going to soothe my aching body?" House said starting to settle into a churlish mood.

Wilson froze for a moment then decided to try a tactic he'd often thought might be useful with House when he got into one of these moods.

"Why? Do you want me to?"

House gave him a startled look that quickly settled into a speculative one. "Now are you saying that because you mean the innuendo or are you just trying to shock me into behaving?"

Wilson cocked an eyebrow as he made a frantic decision in his own mind. He got to his feet and took the few steps that brought him right next to the bed. House's eyebrows shot up at this and Wilson was relieved to see the slightly hopeful expression flicker through his eyes. He gave House a warm look full of all sorts of promises and leaned forward.

"Bit of both really," he said with a smile before pressing a kiss onto House's lips.

House was still long enough to make Wilson wonder whether he'd made a horrible mistake then a hand suddenly gripped the back of his neck and House opened his mouth, turning the kiss from something tentative into something hot and wet.

"While I'm sure Dr House appreciates your bedside manner, Dr Wilson, I really think you should leave this sort of thing for when you're at home."

Lisa Cuddy's amused voice had Wilson pulling back, his eyes wide. He glanced down and wasn't overly surprised to see House smothering a laugh. He tried to glare at the injured man but the humour of the situation was too much even for him.

"Just as well he doesn't do this for anyone else," House said with a quick flick of a look at Wilson. "You'd never get patients out of the hospital."

Cuddy's still amused gaze drifted between the two men. "I'm sure," she said dryly then she turned to go. As she walked out of the room they heard her mutter, "Damn! I missed by two weeks."


	19. Denial

**019. Denial**

Denial Is Not Just A River In Egypt.

_Denial_.

Wilson leaned back in his chair and stared out the window into the growing dusk as the word echoed around his mind. Julie had thrown the word at him angrily, almost spitefully, just before she walked out the door, bags in hand.

"Why don't you pull yourself out of your little world of denial, James," she'd spat at him. "He stares at you like a starving man when he thinks you're not looking. You know it and you don't try and stop it. If you didn't feel the same you would put him out of his misery. If that's even possible." She gave a bitter trenchant laugh. "It's why you've been married three times. I should have known better."

She'd then stalked out of the house, leaving him standing shocked and silent in the living room.

_Denial_.

Oh, he knew she was right. He'd been denying what lay between himself and House for years. Since before the infarction. Since before Stacy. If he'd not been so intent on shoving his head so far into the sand it's a wonder he didn't choke, Stacy might never have happened.

He wished he could remember why he'd started this. He was sure he'd had a reason; he didn't do things without a reason. It had probably been a good reason…at the time. But now he couldn't think of any possible reason that didn't sound a bit stupid.

And now he had to decide what to do. The easiest was just to continue down the path he'd been on for the last who knows how many years. To continue to deny.

_Denial. De-nial. De-nile. A river in Egypt._

He snorted at that fancy and scrubbed his face with one hand. He'd been taking the easy path for years and what did he have to show for it. Three sets of wedding photos. Three sets of divorce documents. Three ex-wives who'd eventually seen right through him though only Julie had spoken the words.

_Maybe it was time to take the more difficult path._

He felt something ease inside him at that thought and a smile curved his lips. Then, as though summoned by the thought, the door to his office opened and Greg House limped in.

"Hey, I have beer, you can buy the Chinese," House said with what approximated cheerfulness in him. "They're showing the monster trucks from Phoenix tonight. You can turn green with envy and I can mock you for missing them when they were here."

Wilson turned his chair so he was looking at House. The older man blinked at the expression on Wilson's face then frowned.

"What's up?" House said with a combination of curiousity and wariness.

Wilson got to his feet and walked over to stand in close to his friend. Too close. Close enough that he could feel the heat flowing from House's body and could see the _want_, the _need_, the _desire_ that flared briefly in his eyes.

"Julie left me," Wilson said almost casually, taking a step forward.

House took a step backwards. He opened his mouth to say something but Wilson didn't let him speak.

"She had some pretty harsh things to say," he continued, taking another step forward.

House took another step backwards.

"Harsh but true," Wilson said as he backed House up yet another step. "And I think she was right."

He took another step and this time when House stepped backwards he ended up with his back against the wall. Wilson gave him a predatory smile and stepped forward a final time, plastering his body against House's and drawing a gasp and look of dawning realisation.

"She says I've been living in denial," Wilson said still in that casual tone as he gripped House's hips with his hands, pulling them even closer together and gaining a moan from House this time. "She's right. She told me I should stop. She's right." He paused and cocked his head to one side. "What do you think?"

House growled softly and wrapped his free hand around Wilson's tie. "I think Julie's a genius," he said as he pulled Wilson to him and kissed him fiercely.


	20. Acceptance

**020. Acceptance**

We All Need Comfort, We All Give Comfort

Wilson rested his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands, wondering not for the first time why he'd chosen to go into oncology. He scrubbed his face and swallowed the tears that were threatening. He shoved his chair backwards and walked out onto the balcony, propping himself on the low wall that separated his section of balcony from House's.

"That bad, huh?" came House's voice from the door to his office.

"She's _twelve_," Wilson said, hearing the tremor in his voice but not knowing how to hide it. "She should be laughing with her friends, discovering boys, pestering her parents for a pony or a bike or whatever it is she wants. She shouldn't be sitting in my office _thanking_ me for hearing that she's going to be dead in three weeks. She shouldn't be so calm about it. She was comforting her _parents_!"

Now the tears fell and Wilson turned away and stared unseeingly out over the view, not wanting to let House see them, not wanting to hear the remarks that would be sure to come.

When the hand gently caressed his hair, he was surprised. But he wasn't going to argue with House's action. Instead he turned his face to bury it in House's shoulder, letting the tears soak into the blue shirt. The gentle stroking of his hair didn't stop and a second hand came up to rest on his shoulder, the heat comforting him. Even when the tears stopped he stayed where he was, letting the comfort seep into him, and House never once stopped his gentle caresses.


	21. Friends

**021. Friends**

One Is The Loneliest Number

House could count the number of friends he had on one hand. Hell, he could count the number of friends he had on one _finger_. He'd never been one to make friends easily, his intelligence, confidence and arrogance alienating more people than they attracted. And he'd burnt more bridges then he cared to think about after the infarction. Only one person had stuck by him, refusing to be driven away, refusing to allow House's bitter, biting words to hurt, to wound, to scar. And now it seemed he might have finally achieved the impossible.

The argument had started out about House's risky treatment of his current patient. For some reason Wilson's warning words had rankled and irritated. He couldn't figure out why _this_ time they bit when they were hardly new. So he done what he always did when someone got under his skin, he lashed out. But Wilson hadn't backed down and the argument had suddenly shifted, leaving House flustered and unsure of what was happening. Never something to make him feel comfortable or pleased. And so things had escalated to the point where angry, almost vicious words had been said by both of them and had ended with Wilson stalking furiously out of House's office.

That had been four days ago and House hadn't seen Wilson, hadn't spoken to him, in all that time. He'd holed himself up in his office and flung vituperative words at anyone who dared to enter. By the end of the third day he'd sent Cameron fleeing in tears, Foreman looked like he was considering homicide and Chase had retreated to the ER in disgust. Only Cuddy had been able to lever him out of his office and down to the clinic and even that had taken some rather firm threats.

But now as evening closed in on the fourth day he was starting to wonder whether maybe this time he'd managed what he'd thought was the impossible – driven St Wilson away. And as _that_ thought grew so did the realisation that he didn't want that. That he valued his friendship with Wilson. That he didn't want to lose it. And that if he didn't want to lose that friendship _he_ was going to have to be the one to do something about it.

He pushed himself to his feet and limped to the door, ignoring the sudden flinches his movement had garnered from his team. He made his halting way to Wilson's office and for one of the few times in their friendship knocked on the door.

"Come in," called Wilson and he opened the door and limped in.

Wilson looked up with an expression of polite enquiry that disappeared when he saw who was there and was replaced by a completely blank face that made House wince inwardly.

"What do you want?"

The words were cool and almost dismissive and House really _did_ wince this time.

"I…I…" House swallowed hard and slumped over his cane. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Was that so damn hard to say?" Wilson replied, his voice now neutral.

House stared down at the floor. "Yes."

Wilson snorted and when House looked up he saw that the oncologist's expression was weary and sad.

"I'm not your whipping boy, House," Wilson said firmly, coming to his feet and walking around to stand in front of House, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm a skilled doctor in my own right. I'm the head of my department just like you are. I'm just as well known in my field as you are in yours. I think I deserve your respect. I think my opinions deserve to be given due consideration. I am not your junior in anything other than years."

House's eyes dropped back down to stare at the floor. "I know," he said, his gaze flickering back up to Wilson's face. "I…do respect you."

"It doesn't feel like it," Wilson said honestly.

"I…I don't know what else to say," House replied.

Wilson finally relented a bit. "I don't think there is anything else you can say right now."

"I…don't want to lose you," House forced out. "I…value our friendship. It matters. It matters to _me_." He paused and then said so very quietly, "It's the only one I have."

"It matters to me too," Wilson replied, his face now calm but his eyes were what mattered to House. Those brown eyes were now alive again rather than blank as they had been when he first walked in.

"What do I do?" House asked rather helplessly.

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. "Take me seriously."

House nodded. "There's baseball on tonight. I have beer," he offered with an odd tentativeness.

Wilson smiled. "I'll bring the food. Chinese?"

House returned the smile, relieved to finally see it. "Yeah, sounds good."


	22. Enemies

**022. Enemies**

Fevers

House scrubbed at his face with his free hand as he limped into his office. He'd been feeling ill for the last couple of days and today had added feverish to his list of symptoms. He knew he looked terrible; his eyes red-rimmed, his face drawn and with a sheen of sweat. Cameron had fussed over him this morning until he'd snapped at her then she'd withdrawn with a hurt and worried look. He'd also seen Foreman and Chase exchange glances but whatever they had been thinking they had been wise enough to keep to themselves.

He grimaced as he dropped into the comfortable chair in the corner of the office, hissing with pain as his leg complained. It was just his luck that Wilson was away at a conference this week but he knew the oncologist was due back some time today and he felt so terrible that he actually had some half-formulated plans for letting Wilson check him over. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, intending only to rest for a moment but his body overruled him and dragged him into sleep.

The feel of someone placing their hand on his shoulder startled him awake. He looked up and recoiled from the figure looming above him. Foreman was leering down at him but it wasn't a Foreman he had ever seen before. The neurologist's expression normal varied between irritation, exasperation and satisfaction. Never before had he seen such an expression of maliciousness on Foreman's face.

"This time you'll pay," Foreman said in a tone that could only be defined as slavering. He then reached towards House's leg with clawing hands.

House yelled as he threw himself out of the chair, pain lancing up his leg as he tumbled to the floor. He grabbed for his cane, using it to drag himself to his feet then turning to face this mockery of Foreman that had woken him. But the neurologist wasn't there. The room was empty and House turned sharply, ignoring the pain from his leg as he looked around frantically.

"Dr House?"

House whipped around to find Cameron standing in the doorway, looking at him with a mix of concern and wariness.

"What?" he said, his voice perilously close to a gasp.

"Are you feeling well?" Cameron asked as she came into the room and it was only then that House realised what she was wearing.

Her normal pants, shirt, lab coat combination had been replaced by a flowing black velvet dress with a plunging neckline. She wore black boots and had a black velvet choker around her neck.

"What's with the goth look?" he snapped as he tensed.

Cameron stopped in her tracks and smiled at him broadly. House gasped and started to back away. Cameron's canines were long and pointed and he could see that her eyes were black and hungry.

"I could make you feel better," she crooned as she started her flowing approach again. "I could make you feel _all_ better."

House backed away until his back thumped into the wall. Cameron swooped up and pressed herself against him, her hands caressing his face and chest gently.

"Don't you _want_ to feel better?" she murmured sweetly, her eyes fixed on his neck.

"I feel just fine," House said, leaning away from her as best as he could and realising that he did in fact feel fine, his cold seemed to have disappeared.

"But you're in pain," Cameron murmured as her hands caressed his neck.

House decided he'd had enough of this and he grabbed Cameron with both hands and shoved her away as he threw himself to his left. He stumbled and caught himself on a bookcase then whipped around, bracing himself with hand and cane. But Cameron wasn't there. She'd disappeared in much the same way that Foreman had and the room was once again empty.

He stumbled over to his desk and collapsed into the chair behind his desk, cradling his head in his hands and wondering just what the hell was going on. The door crashing open had him flinching and looking up with a gasp. Chase scrambled over to the desk and planted both hands on the top, leaning over and glaring at House with frantic eyes.

"He's dead! He said you killed him," Chase howled.

"Who?" House asked, leaning back and away from the panicked Australian.

"My Dad," Chase wailed. "You killed him and didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"

House shook his head with confusion. "No…no…he had cancer. He died of cancer."

"No! You killed him!" Chase moaned. "He told me. You killed him."

House shook his head then leaned over and banged his head lightly on the desk. "No," he whispered. "What the hell is going on?"

He looked up and found that once again the office was empty. He scrubbed his face with one hand then drew in a deep breath. He let it out slowly and swallowed hard. He was going to go home and go to bed. Maybe after some sleep all of this would make some kind of sense.

He was just about to get up when he heard a low creaking sound and a breath of breeze whirled around him. He looked around and saw that the door to the balcony was open and he could see a dark shape outside. The creaking sound continued and he was able to determine that it was coming from the balcony. He pushed himself to his feet and warily limped outside.

The sight that confronted him made him moan, a low sound of pain and despair. The creaking sound was coming from the slow back and forth movement of the noose that had been tied around a support on the balcony above. And hanging from the noose, dead, his face blackened, was James Wilson. House limped forward, barely noticing the absence of the low wall that normally separated the two sections of balcony. Just below Wilson's feet lay a single gold ring and a photo. House picked up the photo with trembling fingers and saw it was one that had been taken before his infarction at a Super Bowl party he and Wilson had gone to. They were standing side by side, their arms thrown around each other's shoulders, both laughing and smiling with beers in hand.

House whimpered, a sound akin to that of a wounded animal, and he turned the photo over. Written on the back in Wilson's normal scrawl were two words.

_Love you_.

House let the photo slip out of his fingers then he yelled and jerked away.

House lurched forward in his chair, his eyes snapping open as the gasping yell escaped his lips. Hands caught at him and he tried to pull away, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

"House! It's alright! Greg! It's me, James!"

House looked around with wide, fear-filled eyes and when he realised that it really _was_ James Wilson standing next to his chair, he grabbed at the other man frantically and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Wilson seemed startled but didn't fight him, merely wrapped his arms around him as best as he could in return and rubbed his back soothingly as House shuddered and gasped.

When House finally started calming down, Wilson carefully pulled away though he kept his hands on House's shoulders. He gave House a sharp look that quickly turned into one of concern and one hand shifted to touch House's forehead.

"God, Greg, you're burning up!" he said.

House blinked as the realisation that he once again felt like crap came flooding back in. He glanced around his office then back up at Wilson, the residue of what he was starting to realise were just dreams lingering and burning in his mind. It was this that prompted his next action. He reached up and grabbed Wilson, pulling him down into a desperate kiss full of everything he'd never been able to find the words to say.

Wilson stiffened and gasped and House took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, plundering Wilson's mouth with his tongue. Wilson moaned at this and his hands clutched at House desperately as he returned the kiss with an intensity that had House moaning as well. They finally separated when the need to breathe became vital though they only moved enough to gasp in air. Wilson was propped on the side of the chair, one knee resting next to House's leg, the other leg braced on the floor. One hand was braced against the back of the chair while the other was gripping House's shirt tightly. House's right hand was still wrapped around the back of Wilson's neck while his left was wrapped as far around Wilson's waist as he could reach. Wilson gently rested his forehead against House's as his hand loosened its grip on the shirt and gently began to caress House's chest.

"What prompted this?" Wilson said with a gentle smile and a caress that took any possible sting out of the words.

House closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "Fever dreams," he murmured, letting the caresses soothe him.

"What kind?" Wilson asked, shifting into a more comfortable position.

House's hand tightened slightly on Wilson's neck and the younger man brought his hands up to brush against House's cheek.

"Everyone hated me, everyone was against me and you…" He shuddered again. "You were dead. Hung yourself on the balcony. Left a gold ring and a photo of us. You wrote on the back 'love you'."

"I'm not going to kill myself," Wilson soothed then he paused then said, "But I do love you." He let his hands gentle House before pulling back and standing again. "Fever dreams or not, I'm glad they pushed you into doing this."

House looked up and saw the smile on Wilson's face and he smiled back rather shakily.

"Now come on," Wilson said, holding out one hand. "You've definitely got a fever so I'm taking you home and if you're very lucky, I'll take advantage of a sick man."

House let his friend pull him to his feet and he smiled. "Sounds good to me."


	23. Lovers

**023. Lovers**

You Too Lie Down

Wilson leaned naked against the doorway and stared with benign satisfaction at the man lying asleep in the bed, the light from the corridor making a wide line across the bed. The sheets were pooled around his waist and one hand lay stretched out over the empty half of the bed while the other lay limply on his chest. His face was tilted away from the door and the light showed not only the stubble crawling across his jaw but also the lovebites Wilson had left on his neck.

A smile flickered across Wilson's face at the last. He wondered how House was going to explain them to his staff because Foreman at the very least was going to comment. He brought a rueful hand up and rubbed at the marks he knew lay on his own neck. Well, whatever troubles House had were going to be matched by his own.

But what was making him feel happy right now was the contented expression he could just see on House's face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen House look so content, so relaxed. The fact that he was the one who had put that expression there was just an added bonus.

As he watched, House's eyes flickered open then a tiny frown appeared. House looked over towards the door, the hand that had been stretched over the empty side of the bed curling in towards his side. The frown vanished when he saw Wilson standing in the doorway and a lazy smile took its place. Wilson felt something lift in his chest at the sight of that smile and he returned it.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," House replied, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Weren't you over here before?"

Wilson chuckled. "Needed a drink."

House shifted on the bed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "And you stayed in the doorway, why?"

Wilson gave him a lazy, languid smile. "Just enjoying the view."

"Never knew you were a voyeur," House replied.

"I've been watching you for years," Wilson said. "Just enjoying the fact I can do it openly now. Enjoying the fact I'm finally in your bed."

House shifted again and tucked one hand behind his head though his expression remained content. "Could have been here years ago if you dropped even one hint you were anything other than completely straight."

Wilson smiled. "Could say the same about you. Or was Stacy just an aberration?"

"Stacy was…" House's expression became contemplative. "I did love her. S'pose I still do in some way. Just not _in_ love with her anymore."

"Good," Wilson said softly.

House smiled slowly, the open display of the emotions usually so deeply hidden making Wilson's heart skip a beat.

"You're not competing with her, James. Her…me…that's over. Has been for a long time. Has been since she…saved my life and fucked it up in one fell swoop."

"You've been so…strange since she came back," Wilson said hesitantly.

"She brought a lot of memories back with her," House admitted. "Good ones and bad ones. Bad ones…kind of outweigh the good ones though. Been hard to…to _deal_ with it all and her at the same time." He paused and eyed Wilson curiously. "Is she the reason you finally made a move?"

Wilson stared down at the floor for a moment then looked back over at House. "Yeah," he said softly. "I always liked her. She was fun, she was smart and she was…she was good for you once. But now…now I hate what she does to you. How you are when she's around, how you act when she walks away." He stared down at the floor again as he continued. "I had no idea whether you felt anything for me other than friendship though I did have some suspicions. I wanted you to stop dwelling on her. I wanted…" He made a small huffing noise. "I wanted to…to _replace_ her. To make you happy, Greg."

"I'm never happy," House said with a snort then his voice softened. "James."

Wilson slowly raised his eyes to look at House. The older man was sitting up and his expression was open and affectionate.

"This is probably as close as I'm ever going to get to that state," he said, his eyes full of the many things he could not find the words to say.

Wilson smiled, both at the words and what was in House's eyes. "Good."

House's expression became a fraction heated and he patted the bed beside him. "Now get over here. The bed's getting cold."

Wilson pushed himself off the doorway and gave House a predatory smile. "We can't have that now, can we?"

He prowled over to the bed and climbed on, yanking the sheets back then crawling up House's body until he could capture House's lips in a fierce kiss. House moaned into the kiss as he ran his hands up Wilson's sides then back down to grab his hips. Wilson broke away from the kiss, smiling at House's whimper.

"Mine," he whispered as he lowered his body down on top of his lover's.

House smiled, his eyes dark with passion. "Mine," he echoed.

"Yes," Wilson replied, returning to the kiss he had interrupted.


	24. Colleagues

**024. Colleagues**

I Know What I Mean

House limped into his office to find Wilson slumped in the chair in front of his desk, tossing the lacrosse ball from hand to hand. He raised an eyebrow at the other man's dejected pose and limped around to sit down in his own chair.

"So what brings you to my office this fine day?" House said, gesturing idly to the rainy sky outside.

"Is that all I am to you?" Wilson muttered as he put the ball back on the desk.

House stared blankly at Wilson. "Er, _what_? Sorry, I left my Wilson decoder ring at home today."

"I was walking past when you were talking to Martinson today," Wilson said, his face blank. "I didn't hear his comment but I heard yours. Is that all I am to you? A _colleague_?"

House scowled. "He was making insinuating remarks since he doesn't like me very much. How did you expect me to respond?"

"The truth," Wilson said simply. "Unless that _is_ the truth."

House went very still and his face closed down. Wilson eyed this with growing surprise.

"The truth wouldn't have been a good idea," he muttered and Wilson frowned.

"Why not?" he demanded. "What is the truth? At the very least I thought I was your friend."

House wrapped one hand around the handle of his cane and stared at it as though it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"You are," he said quietly.

"Then why not just say _that_ to Martinson?" Wilson asked with some exasperation.

"Because it wouldn't be the truth," House replied.

"Then what _is_ the truth?" Wilson asked with confusion. "What am I to you if not a friend? An _associate_? A _comrade_, an _ally_, a _cohort_, a _collaborator_? _What_?"

Wilson got a flicker of blue eyes in response then House pushed himself to his feet and started a limping, slightly agitated pace of his office.

"You don't want to know what you are to me," House muttered.

"I think maybe I do," Wilson replied stubbornly.

He got to his feet and moved into House's path, stopping him with a single hand on his chest.

House's eyes stuttered over to that hand then they slowly tracked up until he was looking straight at Wilson. The oncologist gasped as he saw what was in those eyes; pain, longing, desire. House dropped his eyes to the floor at that gasp and stiffened, aware that he had let too much show.

Wilson stared at the tense man in front of him and felt all of his frustration and anger and disappointment fade. He reached out with one hand and gently brushed House's cheek, smiling at the feel of the stubble under his fingers. House's head whipped up and he stared at Wilson with surprise and burgeoning hope.

"I think I _do_ want to know what I mean to you," Wilson said, his smile lingering.

Disbelief washed over House's face then faded when Wilson kept smiling. His eyes darkened as his cane clattered to the floor and he reached out with both hands, grabbing Wilson by the arms and pulling him against his body. One hand shifted to bury itself in Wilson's hair while the other wrapped itself around the oncologist's waist and he kissed Wilson desperately, with relief, with desire, with everything he was no longer capable of putting into words. Wilson clung to him and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. House finally broke away fractionally and ran soft, nipping kisses along Wilson's jaw to his ear.

"This is what you mean to me," he murmured in Wilson's ear before biting down gently on the lobe.


	25. Strangers

**025. Strangers**

Strangers In A Strange Land

Wilson sat on the couch in his living room and wondered exactly when he and his wife had become strangers. He remembered meeting Julie. He remembered laughing at her jokes and she laughing at his jokes in return. He remembered the first time they had sex. He remembered asking her to marry him. He remembered their wedding. But he couldn't remember when they'd gone back to being strangers.

He looked down at the note in his hand, hardly seeing the words but knowing what they were. They were seared into his mind.

_James,_

_I'm leaving. I'd say I'm sorry but I honestly don't think I am. I've been seeing someone else for the last eight months and you never noticed. What does that say about us, about you? Why am I leaving now and not six months ago? I'm pregnant. I know it's not yours since we haven't had sex for months and I think my child deserves to have his or her real father around and he's genuinely excited about the idea of becoming a father._

_I've already contacted the lawyers and I daresay it won't be that difficult. I'm the one who had the affair and neither my new partner nor I are lacking in money or the ability to earn it so I won't even be asking for alimony. You can keep the house or sell it if you like. I won't need it._

_Julie_

The note had been waiting for him on the kitchen table when he'd arrived home from an evening spent drinking beer, eating pizza and mocking the Jets with House. Once he'd read it he'd only just had the strength to stagger over to the couch before his legs had given out on him and he'd been here ever since.

He dimly heard the sound of a key in the front door but he knew it couldn't be Julie, not after this note.

"Wilson?" It was House and Wilson was vaguely surprised to hear the concern in his voice. "James?"

He couldn't find the words to speak but soon House limped into the living room, his cane thudding softly against the carpet.

"James?" House said, his brow furrowed with concern. "It's eleven o'clock in the morning. What's wrong?"

Once again Wilson couldn't find any words and he mutely held the note out to House who by this time had limped around so that was standing in front of Wilson. House took the note and read it quickly, muttering curses under his breath once he'd finished. He put the note down on the coffee table and sat down on the couch beside Wilson, one hand resting lightly on the handle of his cane.

"I'm sorry," he said a little awkwardly.

Wilson let out a pained, shuddering huff of laughter. "Why?" he said shakily, his first word in nearly twelve hours. "You were the one who told me I shouldn't marry her in the first place."

"Well, yeah," House said uncomfortably. "But…isn't that what I'm supposed to say?"

This time the laugh was a little more genuine. "Since when have you ever done what was appropriate?"

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," House offered.

A small, sad smile crawled over Wilson's face. "Yeah, _right_."

"Yeah, that was never going to work, was it?" House said with amusement.

Wilson drew in a deep breath and scrubbed his face with both hands. It was then that something House had said when he first walked in struck him and he dropped his hands and stared at House.

"It's eleven?"

House blinked then snorted. "Yes. Why do you think I'm here? I got a phone call from Cuddy _ordering_ me to find out why you hadn't turned up to work."

"Oh," Wilson said, wondering briefly why he felt a little hurt.

"Which was a bit annoying," House continued on blithely. "Since I already knew that and was just waiting to see if you were just a bit late because you'd had a car accident or something before I started calling you."

The hurt faded and the warmth inspired by those off-hand words from his friend slowly started to revive him.

"I should…I should…go and have a shower," Wilson said, still feeling a bit disjointed but starting to recover. "Go into work."

"Have the shower by all means but you're not going to work," House replied. "I'll bet you haven't slept all night. I'll call Cuddy and get us both the rest of the day off. You can get some sleep then we'll go out and you can get drunk."

"Not joining me in the drinking?" Wilson asked as he pushed himself to his feet. For once he had no intention of arguing with House.

"Someone has to get us both home," House said idly. "Besides I only do my drinking in private."

"We could stay in," Wilson offered, not really wanting to get drunk on his own tonight. "Beer, pizza and I still have all those cheesy Arnie movies in my study."

"Hmm, alcohol, food and cheesy action movies," House mused, humour growing in his eyes. "You've got a deal. Go wash then sleep. I don't want you at anything less than your best for this."

Wilson laughed, a genuine, honest laugh that washed the last of the pain out of his body for the moment. He knew it wouldn't last but for now he was prepared to take what he could get.


	26. Whiteboard

**026. Whiteboard**

Moments

Wilson stood in front of the whiteboard in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room and stared wearily at House's scrawled writing.

_Severe headache_

_Chills_

_Fever_

_Vomiting_

_Pain – muscle, lower back, upper abdomen_

Underneath all of this, written in far more urgent writing was:

_Petechiae_

_Nosebleeds – haemorrhage_

_Hepatomegaly_

_Q Fever_

_Listeriosis_

_Leptospirosis_

_Dengue Fever_

_Lassa Fever_

_Yellow Fever_

_Crimean-Congo Haemorrhagic Fever_

_Marburg_

_Ebola_

Crimean-Congo Haemorrhagic Fever had been circled twice in red and Wilson sighed heavily.

"It could have been worse."

Wilson turned his head to see House walk into the room, his limp far more pronounced than usual. He looked as tired and worn as Wilson did and he was leaning heavily on his cane.

"How so?" Wilson asked as House came to a halt next to him.

"Could have been Ebola," House replied. "The filoviridae have mortality rates between 25 and 100 percent. At least the mortality rate for CCHF is only around 15 to 30 percent. We've got 48 patients so given those odds somewhere between seven and fourteen should die, which aren't _bad_ odds for them."

"How's Chase?" Wilson asked after a short silence.

"Holding his own," House replied, scrubbing his face almost clumsily with his free hand. "The combination of Ribovirin and the replacement of blood, platelets and plasma seems to be having some effect. It'll be at least another two to three days before we know for sure. But he's young, healthy and fit. That's the one of the best defences he's got against this thing."

"Any word on how long the hospital will have to stay in quarantine?"

House shrugged. "No idea but I'd say at least another week, if not two."

Wilson sighed. "I'm tired of sleeping on the couches in the oncology lounge already. Not sure if I can take another week or two."

"How do you think I feel?" House said with a snort. "There is a reason I go home to sleep."

The reason for House's more exaggerated limp suddenly became clear.

"Where have you been sleeping?" Wilson asked, concern overcoming some of his tiredness.

"In my office," House replied shortly, gesturing to the armchair in the corner of the other room. "My chair's turned out to be the best option."

"Why don't you go and try and get some rest then?" Wilson suggested. "You look like you need it?"

House snorted derisively. "So do you."

Wilson let out a tired chuckle. "You're probably right." He paused then shot a sly grin in House's direction. "Problem is, I've gotten used to your bed."

A warm amused smile flashed across House's face. "Told you it was comfortable."

"Well, that's true enough but I was actually referring to the company," Wilson replied with another quick grin.

House's hand ghosted down Wilson's arm, drawing a small shiver. He bit his lower lip for a moment then gave House an intense look.

"Just how comfortable _is_ that chair of yours?" he asked as blandly as he could manage.

"Not bad," House replied curiously. "Why?"

Wilson suddenly turned and grabbed House's arm, dragging him gently but inexorably into the office. House followed along with an irritated look then pulled his arm free once they were inside. Wilson let him go and walked over to the door.

"Was there some _reason_ you felt the need to manhandle me all of a sudden?" he snapped.

Wilson turned around as he let the lock click shut audibly and saw the realisation wash across House's face. He grinned at the startled look he'd just gained and closed the curtains.

"Why don't you take a seat?" he suggested.

House blinked at him for a moment then he turned and limped over to the chair, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the floor before lowering himself into the chair with a pained grunt. He propped his cane against the wall then turned to watch Wilson with curious anticipation.

Once he'd closed all of the curtains, Wilson stripped his lab coat off. He folded it and draped it over the back of the chair in front of House's desk then pulled his tie off and draped it over the coat. He then walked over to where House was sitting and crawled on top of him, taking care not to bump his leg. House's hands came up and steadied him and he slowly lowered himself on top of the older man.

"I think I like your ideas," House said, his breathing rate picking up slightly as his hands slid around to cup Wilson's arse.

"I do have my moments," Wilson replied and he gently undulated his hips, feeling his dick harden and noticing with smug satisfaction the same thing happening to House.

House moaned and his hands slid down to grip at Wilson's hips, encouraging the movement. He then shifted one hand up to grip the back of Wilson's head and drew him down into a hot, needy kiss. Wilson worked his hands between the two of them as he returned the kiss and with an admirable display of dexterity removed both of House's shirts as well as his own, tossing them to the floor beside the chair. He then went to work on his pants and House's jeans as House shifted his attention to his neck, kissing, licking and biting his way down to Wilson's shoulder.

It was his turn to moan when House bit down one the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and then soothed the mark he'd just left with a kiss. Wilson finished his work on their pants and shoved down House's jeans and boxers far enough to release his erection then did the same to himself. He wrapped his hand around both their cocks and watched as House's head fell back against the chair with a thump and a low, thready whine escaped from the older man.

"God, James," House breathed as he almost instinctively bucked up into Wilson's hand, pain flashing ever so briefly across his face at the movement.

Wilson pulled his hand away, ignoring the murmur of complaint that came and he plastered himself against House, returning to the slow undulation of his hips that he'd started with and swallowing House's cry with a kiss. House wrapped his arms around Wilson and shifted his own hips as best as he could. Wilson wove one hand into House's hair and plundered his mouth as he gave in to House's unspoken demands, his hips moving sharply. He tore his mouth away from House's and took in wild, gasping breaths, hearing House's breathing take on the same tenor as release closed in on both of them. He buried his face in House's shoulder as his movements became more frantic and House clutched at him desperately. It only took a few more thrusts then Wilson was coming, biting down hard on House's shoulder to muffle his cry. House wasn't far behind him and when he came, Wilson shifted his mouth onto the older man's to swallow his low moan in a kiss. He pressed several soft kisses to House's face as they both came down from the endorphin high, House's hands tracing random patterns on his back.

Eventually House's hands stuttered in their gentle caresses and Wilson knew it was time for him to move. He gingerly manoeuvred himself off his lover, hitching his boxers and pants up before wandering over to the desk and grabbing a handful of tissues. He walked back to the chair and dug House's Vicodin out of his jacket pocket. He handed the small bottle to house before cleaning them both up. He tossed the tissues into the trash and heard the rattle of the bottle behind him. When he turned around House had hitched up his boxers and jeans and had his head titled back and his eyes closed.

Wilson sat down on the edge of the chair and ran a gentle hand down his lover's chest. "Okay?"

House nodded and shifted over on the chair slightly before pulling Wilson down beside him. "Think there's enough room for two," he muttered.

Wilson wrapped his wrapped his legs around House's good leg and draped himself over the older man, smiling when House wrapped his arms around him. He felt more than heard House's breathing settle in a sleep rhythm before he lost his battle and sleep claimed him as well.


	27. Cane

**027. Cane**

The Things We Miss

House sat hunched over in the chair behind his desk and stared darkly at the cane in his hands. His team had tried to speak to him about their current patient when he'd walked in but he'd fobbed them off with acerbic, bordering on harsh, words and taken refuge in his office. He'd been in no mood for their eagerness, their concern, them in general. All he'd wanted to do was hide in his office and lick his real and metaphorical wounds.

He'd been walking past Cuddy's office after serving his time in the purgatory the hospital liked to call the clinic and he'd inadvertently overheard the conversation going on within. It was the voices that had caught his attention first; Cuddy, Stacy and Wilson. Then the topic of conversation had become clear and he'd felt like all of his breath had been sucked out of his lungs.

"Come on, James," Stacy had been saying, her voice full of amused wheedling. "With you we've got three and I'm sure we can rustle up a fourth."

"I don't know, Stacy," Wilson had said reluctantly and House could almost see him rubbing the back of his neck. "I haven't played in a long time."

"Playing tennis is like riding a bike, you never really forget," Cuddy had then said calmly.

That was the phrase that had figuratively punched House in the stomach. Because once they would not have had to 'rustle up a fourth'. Once _he_ would have been that fourth. He couldn't remember the number of times he and Stacy had played tennis with Wilson and Cuddy. That was how he'd met Lisa Cuddy; Stacy had gone looking for someone to replace their usual fourth and found Cuddy. The four of them had from thereon spent many evenings playing friendly if rather competitive games, always best of three sets. He and Stacy playing Cuddy and Wilson. He and Cuddy trouncing Wilson and Stacy. He and Wilson beating and be beaten by Stacy and Cuddy.

He'd limped away as fast as he could after that statement, not wanting to hear any more of the conversation. Not wanting to be reminded of what he'd lost.

He stared down at the cane that was the absolute constant in his life and scowled. He'd lost more than some muscle tissue and a pain-free life with the infarction. He'd lost Stacy though admittedly that was mostly his fault. But he'd also lost almost everything he'd considered _fun_ in his life. Golf, tennis, sculling, running, lacrosse. He'd always been active, always been a good sportsman. The first things he'd thrown out after he gotten home from the hospital was everything from that side of his life. Stacy had already taken all of her things and he'd quickly gotten rid of his golf clubs, his racquets, his scull, everything. Everything that was a reminder of what he'd lost.

His lips thinned as bitterness overwhelmed him. So they were going to take up their tennis nights again. They were going to go back to what had been _normal_, going back to their lives. And where was he supposed to fit in with all of this? He felt tears well in his eyes and he forced them back with a grimace and a scowl. In a harsh, convulsive move he flung the cane that he both needed and hated across the room, listening to it clatter against the glass and almost wishing for the glass to shatter.

He didn't see his team flinch at the sudden noise and exchange glances in the other room. Nor did he see Wilson standing outside his office, watching him with worry as he had been doing for the last ten minutes. The first that he knew of the younger man's presence was when he spoke.

"Something wrong?" Wilson asked calmly as he leaned over and picked up the cane.

House didn't answer, merely shot Wilson a dark look that had the oncologist raising his eyebrows.

Wilson sighed and walked over, leaning the cane against the desk. "Well, if you ever feel like telling me you know where I am."

He turned and headed for the door.

"Taking up _tennis_ again, are you?" House snarled bitterly, stopping Wilson in his tracks.

Wilson closed his eyes briefly then shoved his hands in his pockets. He turned around and faced House, taking care to keep his face neutral.

"You heard?"

House gave him a scornful look that answered that question very clearly.

"Pity you didn't stick around to hear the rest then," Wilson continued. "You might have heard me say no."

"Why?" House's tone was still bitter, trenchant.

Wilson was silent for a long moment. "Because it wouldn't be any fun without you. That was why I played." He gave a snort of wry amusement. "I actually don't really _like_ tennis that much. But you made it fun. Especially when we paired up against the girls. They could get _Roger Federer_ to be the fourth and it still wouldn't be any fun."

House's expression was startled as he looked at Wilson. "But I used to _mock_ you relentlessly."

Wilson grinned. "Yeah but you did it with style. It was…_friendly_ mocking, not condescending or nasty or anything. It was _funny_ even if it _was_ at my expense."

House gave him a small smile then sobered as he picked up his cane. "I miss it."

"I know," Wilson replied softly.

"That's…why I bought the bike," House said quietly. "The guy at the shop pointed it out. My leg doesn't matter, I can still ride. My leg…stops me from doing a lot of things but it doesn't stop me doing this. Feels like I got part of _me_ back."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced as he tried to find something to say.

"Take me for a ride," he blurted before he could really think about it.

House gave him a startled look. "I thought it was dangerous?"

Wilson shrugged. "It is. Take me for a ride."

A slow smile grew on House's face and he pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his leather jacket. His eyes lit up and he tossed the helmet in Wilson's direction.

"Take off the lab coat and the tie," he ordered, his face alight with anticipation. "I'm taking _James_ for a ride, not _Dr Wilson_."

Wilson stripped off his lab coat and pulled off his tie, wondering just what the hell he was getting himself into. Then he looked over and saw the look of anticipation and delight on House's face and decided it was well worth it.


	28. Piano

**028. Piano**

Peace

James Wilson slowly came awake to an empty bed and the soft sounds of the piano drifting in from the other room. He stretched languidly, smiling at the pleasant ache of long unused muscles and rolled onto his back, the sheets bunching at his waist. From this angle he could see the dim light coming from the living room through the open door. He tucked one hand behind his head and listened to the music flowing softly into the room. It took a moment to identify it then it came to him. Chopin's Nocturne.

He shifted slightly on the bed and smiled softly. The smile broadened when the Nocturne was followed by Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. If ever there was a sign that Greg was feeling at peace with the world, those two pieces of music were it. He'd not heard Greg play them in many years.

He pushed the sheets back and got out of bed, wandering into the living room and leaning against the wall. Greg was sitting at the piano, wearing only a pair of boxers, and from this angle James could not only see the muscles shifting in his back and shoulders as he played but also the almost delicate movement of his hands and fingers over the keys. The dim light being cast from the lamp in the corner allowed James to see that Greg's face was contemplative and calm, his eyes closed and a small smile gracing his lips.

James pushed himself off the wall and drifted over, gently placing his hands on Greg's shoulders. Only the slight broadening of the smile indicated Greg's acknowledgment of his presence, the music still flowed gently, surrounding them both in an air of contentment.

When the sonata came to an end, James tightened his grip ever so slightly and let his thumbs start making tiny caressing circles, gently pressing a kiss into Greg's hair. Greg leaned back into him and let his hands rest on his thighs.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Greg murmured, finally breaking the calm silence that had fallen.

"'S okay," James replied. "Can't sleep?"

"Just thinking."

"Good thoughts?"

Greg smiled as his eyes finally flickered open and he drew James' hands down onto his chest, holding them in his own. "Yeah, definitely good thoughts."

"Good," James said softly. He pulled his hands out of Greg's grip and stepped away, leaving one hand resting on his lover's shoulder. "Come back to bed."

Greg gave him a smile and reached for his cane. He pushed himself to his feet, James' hand falling away, then he reached out to brush the younger man's cheek. "Yes."


	29. iPod

**029. iPod**

I Don't Belong Here

Wilson walked into House's office and was surprised to find the room empty. He'd seen House's team leave about half an hour ago and had assumed that House was holed up in his office ignoring the world. They had already planned to go to House's place tonight for beer, pizza and some really bad horror movies that House wanted to have a laugh at. He'd accepted with a certain restrained eagerness, not wanting to go home to an increasingly distant Julie.

He dropped down into his usual chair, deciding to wait for House here rather than go back to his own office. He stretched his legs out in front of him then saw House's iPod sitting on his desk. He smiled to himself and picked up, curious to see what House was listening to at the moment. He put the earpieces in and pressed the play button as he did, the start of a slide show caught his attention and he brought the tiny machine up and watched.

As the song began he frowned; the lyrics were familiar and he quickly placed it as a song House had taken a liking to a few years ago. It was the song Creep by Radiohead but this version certainly wasn't being sung by them. It was being sung by a woman and in such a heartfelt and almost melancholy manner that he frowned slightly. He'd never heard this version and he wondered what had prompted House to choose it. It was then that the slide show caught his attention.

_I want a perfect body_

_I want a perfect soul_

_I want you to notice_

_When I'm not around_

_You're so fuckin' special_

_I wish I was special_

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo._

The pictures were old ones of himself and House. They were from the tennis games they used to play; from the time they'd gone hiking together, from the time House had dragged him cycling one weekend and in between each one of these pictures was the same photo. One that had been taken at a Christmas party and showed the two of them with their arms around each other's shoulders, laughing and looking at each other.

_Whatever makes you happy_

_Whatever you want_

_You're so fuckin' special_

_I wish I was special..._

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,_

_What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don't belong here._

_I don't belong here._

The lyrics resounded through his head as the pictures changed again, this time to photos he hadn't even know had been taken. These ones dated to after the infarction and he wondered who had taken them. As he stared harder at them he realised they had been taken at various work functions; mostly ones that he'd had to drag House along to but each of the photos featured the two of them and House was at least not scowling in them. In a couple he even had a small smile on his face.

The song came to an end and Wilson fumbled with the iPod, replaying it and letting the lyrics wash over him as he watched the photos scroll again as he tried to work out why _this_ song, why _these_ pictures. Did House think _he_, Wilson, was special? And did that mean House thought that he was a creep, a weirdo? That he somehow didn't belong?

He gasped as the iPod was suddenly plucked out of his hand and the earpieces pulled out. He turned to find House limping around to his chair, his face opaque as he shoved the iPod into his jacket pocket. House sat down and flicked a quick glance at him before almost nervously flipping through the papers on his desk.

"Why that song?" Wilson said firmly. He'd almost let the matter drop but House's evasive actions decided him on this course of action. "Why those photos?"

"What does it matter?" House said sharply, clearly wanting to avoid the topic.

"Those photos with _that_ song and you want me to just leave it?" Wilson asked. "Not a chance in hell."

House pushed himself to his feet jerkily and started to limp back and forth. "It doesn't mean anything."

Wilson snorted and watched House closely. "Bullshit."

"Such language. Your mother would be so disappointed with you," House said sarcastically.

"Stop trying to change the subject," Wilson replied. "Why that song? Why those photos? What's it meant to mean?"

House stopped pacing and gave him an intent look that Wilson couldn't read. "You really want to know?"

The tone and that intent look had Wilson hesitating for just a moment then he nodded once. "Yes, I think I do."

House stared at him for a moment then limped forward. When he got to the chair, he ran a hand through Wilson's hair and tipped his head back, bracing himself on his cane and leaning down to kiss him. Wilson was startled at first; he'd always wondered about that occasional glimpse of desire and lust he'd seen in House's eyes, whether it truly _was_ directed at him as he'd often suspected. Then he realised that House was starting to pull away and in a sudden flash he knew that if he allowed that to happen then their friendship would likely fracture and fade, let alone anything else that might happen. He also realised that he'd felt more during that simple, almost chaste, kiss than he had at any time during any of his marriages. He quickly reached up, curling one hand around the back of House's neck and pulling him back down. He deepened the kiss, making a bold exploration of House's mouth then moaning when House suddenly returned the favour. This time when House started to pull away, Wilson let him go.

"Who says persistence does pay off in the end?" he said, smiling up at House.

House seemed startled, even shocked. "You're married," he said, almost absently.

"Probably not for much longer," Wilson replied candidly. "I think Julie's having an affair. I don't blame her really. I spend more time at the hospital and with you in a week than I do with her in a month."

House blinked. "You seem…awfully cavalier about that."

"I wasn't," Wilson admitted with a wry smile. "Until you kissed me. Now it seems that…maybe I've been looking in the wrong direction." He stood and moved close to House, gaining a tiny indrawn breath when he stood close enough to feel the heat pouring off the older man. "Maybe I've been ignoring what's been right in front of me all the time." He grinned. "Maybe you should have made a move before I married Julie."

He was relieved to see some of the shock fade from House's face and the more familiar sardonic expression replace it.

"And precisely how many men have you slept with, Dr Panty Peeler?" House asked archly.

"One…in college," Wilson admitted. "But it didn't seem that…great. That kiss…has kind of convinced me that maybe I didn't do it right last time."

A slow smile curved House's lips and he leaned in and kissed Wilson again. Wilson wrapped one arm around House's waist, letting the other rest lightly on top of House's on the handle of the cane. The kiss was full of intent and promise and Wilson moaned lightly again.

"You like that," House said softly when they separated again.

"Yeah," Wilson replied with a smile. "Take me home. Feed me beer and pizza. I've got a crazy urge to neck on the couch like a teenager while crappy horror movies play on the TV."

House laughed and pulled away completely, limping over to where he'd dumped his bag that morning. "Sounds better than the original plan."


	30. Coffee Mug

**030. Coffee Mug**

Distraction

House returned from his morning scolding from Cuddy to find Wilson sitting at the table in the conference room. This was not an entirely unusual situation; in fact Wilson could often be found lurking in the Diagnostic Medicine offices. What did add a touch of difference to this particular day was that Wilson was drinking his coffee from House's red coffee mug.

House limped in and raised an eyebrow at the oncologist, shooting a significant look at the mug in his hand. Wilson returned the raised eyebrow and the amused and slightly mischievous look in his eyes almost dared House to make an issue of it.

The three young doctors caught this byplay and exchanged quick glances. They too had noticed Wilson's appropriation of House's coffee mug but figured that since Wilson was able to take liberties with House that no one else could that maybe this fell into that category. And if this was a liberty too far then at least the fallout wouldn't land on them. But much to their surprise, House said nothing. They were fairly sure they saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes but it was gone so quickly that they couldn't be entirely sure.

"What are you lot doing in here?" House snapped as he pulled another coffee mug out of the cupboard and filled it up from the pot. "Last time I looked we had a patient."

"He's stable and we're waiting for the test results," Foreman said. "Where else are we supposed to be?"

"He's got a point there, House," Wilson said with a tiny smile.

"So says the _oncologist_," House said. "Run out of chairs in your own department."

"No but your coffee's better," Wilson replied blandly.

House smirked and Chase, Cameron and Foreman waited for the biting comment about Wilson's use of House's mug. Once again they were disappointed.

"Of course it is," House said. "Cameron buys it because she thinks if I have good coffee I might just be more pleasant to the patients and people in general."

Cameron blushed as Wilson merely raised and eyebrow and took a sip of his coffee. "I see. Interesting theory."

"Stupid theory," House said, warming to his subject. "I'm never pleasant. Coffee isn't going to change that."

A look of sheer and utter mischief swept across Wilson's face then it disappeared and was replaced by a look of mild amusement.

"Well, if the coffee was strong enough you might at least be perky," he said, his lips twitching.

House gave him an incredulous look. "_Perky_? Have I _ever_, in all the time you've known me, been _perky_?"

Wilson cocked his head to one side and he pretended to think. "Well, there was that one time…oh, no, wait, hang on, that was _petulant_, not perky."

Chase quickly smothered a snicker while Foreman looked away to hide his smile.

House looked both amused and mollified. "That's more like it. Besides the only thing stronger coffee would do is keep me awake at night and you wouldn't like what arrived the next morning."

Cameron seemed to think this was her cue to retreat and she stood, picking up the papers that had been sitting on the table in front of her.

"I…I think I'll go and check on our patient," she said hastily before beating her retreat out the door.

House watched her go with a smirk then turned to Foreman and Chase. "Hmm, wonder how hard it'll be to get rid of you two?"

The two young doctors exchanged rather world-weary looks and gathered up their things.

"We'll…go and help Cameron," Foreman said dryly.

Once they had left House turned to Wilson and gave him an arch look.

"Getting a little familiar, aren't we?" he said, gesturing towards the red coffee mug with the one in his hand.

"Well, we share an apartment and a bed, why not a coffee mug?" Wilson said blandly, though his eyes were alight with amusement. "It's not like I haven't had ample exposure to your germs."

House gave a short laugh and limped over to stand beside him. "Want some more exposure?" he asked with a rather heated leer.

Wilson licked his lips and looked rather tempted. He then glanced out of the glass walls and doors and smiled ruefully.

"We agreed to keep this discreet until my divorce went through," he said reluctantly, nodding towards the glass. "We can't do that in here."

House looked over at the glass as well and shrugged. "Well then, we'll have to do this the roundabout way."

He put his mug down on the table and in a swift move snatched the red mug out of Wilson's hand. He ran his tongue briefly around the rim where Wilson had been drinking then took a swallow of the coffee. He turned and limped towards his office, smirking at the oddly contemplative and slightly aroused look that he'd left on Wilson's face.


	31. Sunrise

**031. Sunrise**

Night-time Confessions

The morning sun shining through his bedroom window woke House. He frowned as he blinked at the light, wondering blearily why the curtains were open. Then he realised that he wasn't alone in the bed, that someone was curled up against his back, spooning him, one arm wrapped around his waist. As he slowly became more alert and awake he realised that the person holding him so lovingly was a man and they were both naked then the memories of the previous night came rushing back.

The day had been nothing short of horrendous. Cuddy had been furious at him for upsetting not only his own patient's family but also for sending no less then three patients in the clinic out in tears. Stacy had lingered around and in his office until he'd told her take a hike in no uncertain terms then he'd had to deal with her subsequent coolness and irritation when she was called in regarding his patient's family. Foreman was frustrated that his suggestions about what was affecting their patient had not panned out and had been taking that frustration out on Chase and Cameron which of course had led the those two snapping back.

On the whole when Wilson had turned up in his office just after five, looking drawn and telling House he owed him twenty dollars, House had been glad of the excuse to get the hell out of the hospital. They picked up beer and Chinese on the way to House's apartment and had settled in for an evening of forgetting their day when Wilson's cell phone had rung. He'd answered it blithely but had soon tensed up and stalked into the kitchen. House had only caught bits and pieces of the conversation from Wilson's side but he could make an educated guess about what was happening.

"Troubles with the little woman?" he asked archly when Wilson had finally emerged from the kitchen. "Going to scurry off home?"

Wilson had scowled at him as he dropped back down into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. "It seems I no longer _have_ a home," he said abruptly.

House blinked. "She's kicked you out?"

All of the tension and irritation flowed out of Wilson and he sighed, scrubbing his face with one hand.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Seems her boss and his wife were coming over for dinner tonight. She said it was the final straw and that if I preferred spending my time here with you then I could just stay here." He gave a single, quiet laugh. "The thing is I can't remember her ever telling me about the dinner tonight."

"You think she lied?" House asked curiously.

"No, I think she probably left a note and I didn't see it," Wilson replied with a shrug. "It was our most common form of communication the last month or two. But you know I don't remember things well if you write them down. You have to _tell_ me things."

"You'd think your _wife_ would have known that," House observed, taking a swig of his beer.

"She does," Wilson replied. "I just don't think she cares anymore."

"No, _really_?" House said sarcastically. "Maybe that's why she kicked you out."

Wilson just rolled his eyes. "Just as well I have a change of clothes in the car. She's _graciously_ allowing me to go over tomorrow to get my things though."

House nodded. "Just as well it's Saturday tomorrow. You'll have plenty of time. I suppose you'll be cluttering up my place again?"

"You don't mind?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head. "Where else are you going to go? Just don't complain about my couch. You already know what it's like."

"You're making me sleep on the couch?" Wilson said, raising an eyebrow. "My back'll be seized up in about six different places tomorrow."

House snorted. "Last time you slept in my bed you moved around more than I thought humanly possible. _You_ slept but _I_ didn't."

"Oh," Wilson said, looking nonplussed. "You didn't say anything."

"Never got a chance," House said with a shrug. "I got paged in to the hospital at about five am and just forgot about it what with all the problems with that patient." He looked at the slightly forlorn, slightly guilty expression on Wilson's face and rolled his eyes. "Fine! You can sleep in my bed. But if you do the same thing again, I'm kicking you out."

"Whatever," Wilson said with amusement and they settled back into watching the baseball and drinking their beer.

They finally stumbled off to bed just after midnight, performing the usual before bed rituals with surprising ease then making sure Wilson took the side of the bed that meant he wouldn't bump House's bad leg during the night.

Wilson watched as House swallowed his final Vicodin for the day and turned out the lights. He lay on his side, facing his friend and debated whether or not to say anything.

"If you tell me I'm taking too many pills, I'll kick you out," came House's voice out of the dark.

"How did you know?" Wilson said with surprise.

"You think very loudly," came the dry reply. "Besides I saw the look on your face before I turned out the light. You only get that disapproving yet worried look when you're thinking about my addiction."

"Well, there's not much I can say to that is there," Wilson said with a sigh.

"Not if you don't want to sleep on the couch," House replied.

There was a moment of silence then Wilson heard House sigh.

"I _have_ been being more careful when I take them," he admitted reluctantly.

Wilson smiled in the dark. "Good. I'm glad."

"I'll bet you are," came the sardonic reply. "Damn! I forgot to close the curtains."

Wilson heard House shift around and he put a hand out to stop him. "I'll do it."

House stilled and Wilson heard his sharp, indrawn breath. He realised then that his hand had come to rest on House's stomach and that the muscles there were quivering underneath his touch.

"Sorry," he whispered but for some reason he didn't remove his hand. Instead he let his fingers trail up towards House's chest. He hadn't got too far when his hand was gripped tightly, almost painfully, and brought to a halt.

"What are you doing?" House's voice sound tense and curious with just the barest hint of hope.

"Touching you," he said calmly.

"_Why_?" came House's tense response.

Wilson paused to consider the question. Part of him was aware that his answer was probably one of the more important things he would ever say. The wrong thing would probably not only see him kicked out of the bed but likely also the apartment and House's life. Of course now he had to find the answer within himself. Why _was_ he touching House? Because he wanted to was the most immediate response but he knew he'd need more than that. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard and the answer came to him in a rush. He knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be contesting this latest divorce in any way, shape or form. He _wanted_ to touch House. He wanted to do _more_ than just touch. In the darkness, honesty seemed easier and honesty had just smacked him up the back of the head with a length of two-by-four.

"Because I want to," he said intently in answer to House's question. "Because I can. Because I'm fairly sure you want me to." He paused and gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And because maybe I've finally gotten old enough and smart enough to admit what I've wanted for a long time."

The silence at the end of that was almost deafening and Wilson could almost _feel_ the confusion, the disbelief, the suspicion flowing off the other man. He pulled his hand free and ran it lightly up House's chest until he reached his face. He cupped House's cheek, finding the feel of stubble under his hand odd but strangely exciting, then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to House's. The other man was deathly still for a moment then, in a lightning quick move that Wilson could have sworn House wasn't capable of, he was on his back with House lying partially on him being kissed with a fervour he'd only ever dreamed of. Just as he was _really_ enjoying the kiss, House pulled away slightly.

"Are you sure?" House said hoarsely. "Really sure? If you've got the slightest doubts, say so now because…"

Wilson cut this impassioned pleas off by pulling House back down and kissing him. House took that as all the consent he needed and finally took what he'd wanted for so long.

House blinked into the morning light again and turned onto his back. Wilson didn't wake at the move, merely settled into a more comfortable position with a sleepy murmur. He almost hesitantly brought one hand up, running it down Wilson's shoulder and back in a gentle caress. This did wake the younger man and House let his hand fall back onto the bed as Wilson blinked his way awake. As House watched, a frown creased Wilson's brow then his eyes widened as he too remembered what happened the previous night. House felt something inside him clench at that reaction then as he continued to watch, the surprise faded and a smile grew on his lover's face.

Wilson shifted and looked up at House, not overly surprised to see the closed and wary expression on the other man's face.

"Morning," he said calmly and with a continuation of his earlier smile.

House relaxed, for the first time aware of how tense he had been and he saw Wilson roll his eyes.

"I don't have many friends," was all House said, asperity tinging his words.

"I know," Wilson replied with fond amusement. "But I think I'm perfectly capable of saying no if I don't want something to occur. And did I say no at any point last night?"

House finally smiled slightly and pulled Wilson as little closer, liking the feel of the other man against him as the morning sun shone down on them. "No, you didn't," he admitted. "But that didn't mean you weren't going to wake up this morning thinking you'd made a huge mistake."

Wilson snorted and he settled down comfortably again. "I think marrying Julie was the big mistake," he said sourly. "Last night was an experience that I'd like to repeat…many, many times."

House's breath caught then he swallowed hard. "I think that can be arranged."


	32. Sunset

**032. Sunset**

Interlude

The light from the sunset flared across the motorbike, making its yellow colour turn strangely reddish. It shone brightly on the two men lying in the long grass at the foot of the bike. The older of the two lay with his head on the other's stomach and he had his eyes closed as the younger man gently carded his fingers through his hair. A cane lay discarded between the bike and the two men, its dark colour a contrast to the green of the grass. Two jackets lay beside the cane with two helmets sitting on top.

As the light from the sunset flared red, yellow, orange, the older man opened his eyes, a slow, lazy smile stretching his lips. He shifted himself around until he lay beside his companion then propped himself up on one elbow. The younger man smiled and gently caressed the older man's cheek, gaining a similar caress in response. The older man then leaned down and kissed his companion. The kiss was long and loving yet remained gentle and calm and when the two men finally pulled apart, the younger man encouraged his lover closer. Soon the older man was resting with his head on his lover's shoulder and his right leg draped over his lover's legs. Their arms were wrapped around each other tightly and they both looked content.

The sun slowly continued its journey downwards, its light growing dimmer until finally only the last russet glimmers showed above the horizon. In the growing dusk, the two men finally separated. The older man rolled on his back, his contented expression slowly turning to one more closed and a flicker of pain crossed his face more than once. His companion sat up and reached back towards the jackets. He fumbled in the pocket of one and pulled out a small orange bottle, offering it to his companion.

The older man accepted the bottle, shaking out one of the small white pills within and swallowing it. The two men then climbed to their feet, the younger steadying the older. It was the younger who reached for the cane before turning and handing it to the older, who took it with a look of resignation. They pulled their jackets on and grabbed their helmets before walking over to the bike.

The older man climbed on first, attaching his cane to the side of the bike, then the younger got on behind him. He leaned forward and spoke quietly into the ear of his lover and whatever he had to say gained a small laugh and a gentle caress. They both then donned their helmets and the roar of the bike shattered the still evening air. The younger man wrapped his arms around his companion and they drove off into the growing dark.


	33. Too Much

**033. Too Much**

Too Much

Sometimes he wants too much. Sometimes when his leg hurts too badly and he knows that one more little white pill will see him in the ER having his stomach pumped, he _wants_ so badly, wants what he is sure will help, will ease his pain. He wants it badly enough that it partially overcomes the pain. It brings a new pain in its wake, of course. A pain of wanting what he cannot have, of needing what can never be his. He'll take what he can though. Better to take the friendship that is given and accept that much than try for more and lose everything.

_Her_ arrival hasn't helped at all. _She_ arrived with all her worry and concern and it wasn't for him. He loved her once…before. That was what his life was now; before and after. Before he had loved her but now…after…it was too much. Seeing her was too much. The others believed it was because he still loved her and he let them think that. But he doesn't love her, not anymore. But seeing her brought it all back; the pain, the fear, the indecision and that dreadful, terrible, shattering moment when he'd woken from the coma to find that he was alive but forever crippled. Crippled outside and crippled inside. Pain-wracked, pain-raddled, _pained_.

And sometimes seeing _him_ is too much. He'll come wandering in, hands shoved in the pockets of his pristine white coat with that small half-deprecating, half-amused smile on his face. He'll banter, he'll quip, he'll return the sarcasm and dry irony. Then he'll smile again, wider, more genuine this time then turn and leave. And he'll watch him go and want…too much.


	34. Not Enough

**034. Not Enough**

Not Enough

Sometimes it's just not enough. When he's home with a wife that no longer loves him, no longer cares if he's late, no longer gets angry when he misses dinner. That is the time that he knows its not enough. He wants more. And that's when he despairs because surely there is no more to have. Surely _he_ has no more to give, he who lost so much. So he stares at the uncaring wife over the top of the journal or book or newspaper and feels something wither inside him, feels something threaten to die.

Sometimes he wonders whether it would be better to no longer accept _not enough_. Whether he should try for more, try for what he wants. But then _he_ will arrive, limping and in pain, looking drawn and weary and he feels he can ask no more of this man. That if he does it will be what breaks him. For he is vulnerable even if he tries to hide it. Mostly he succeeds. Very few others have seen him stumble and fall.

_She_ has. She saw him stumble, saw him fall, saw him scream with pain. She loved him then…loves him still in some way. He wishes she had never returned. _He_ hasn't been the same since she came back. There is nothing he can do to ease the confusion, the uncertainty that rattles through _him_. He tries though; he offers what support he can, he banters, he jokes, he plays and hopes, just hopes, that when he eventually has to leave that _he_ is happier, calmer, more settled. And all he can think as he walks away is…this is not enough.


	35. Time

**035. Time**

All That Really Belongs To Us Is Time

There were many things House hated about his disability. He hated the pain that he lived with, day in and day out. He hated having to rely on the cane to walk any distance beyond a few steps. He hated the limp that forced the use of the cane. He hated what his thigh looked liked, scarred and missing muscle tissue. He hated the stares and curious questions from complete strangers. But one of the things that grated the most was the time it took to do things now.

Walking was the most obvious. The limp slowed him down. The pain slowed him down even more. He used to walk quickly, striding through the corridors of the hospital, making people almost run to keep up with him. He used to run; great, long, ground-eating strides, the wind in his hair, a grin on his face. There was no running now; just walking was enough of a trial. While he'd made the occasional idiotic effort to walk normally without his cane, suppressing the limp, he had never even once tried to see if he could run. He could be stupid sometimes but he wasn't _that_ stupid.

It took more time to get ready in the morning. Once he'd been able to be out the door within fifteen minutes of waking which had been a real bonus during med school. It had allowed him valuable sleeping-in time after the parties at night and still be able to get to his classes on time. But now it took time. He had to be careful in the shower even with the bars Wilson had installed after he'd been released from hospital after the infarction. He had to move deliberately, slowly or risk slipping on the wet floor of the shower. Even dressing took more time. He couldn't balance on one leg while shoving the other into his jeans anymore. He had to take his time, be careful, be judicious in his movements.

Even going out took more time. He had to be careful, manoeuvre deftly, to get in and out of the car. He had to pick his path when walking through a crowded bar or in a restaurant. Make sure that no one would bump him too hard or pull out a chair at _just_ the wrong time. It made going out a chore, a trial, a burden and made him long for his own couch, his own apartment where he could lounge around to his heart's content and make Wilson get the beer. Or take his own sweet time getting it himself.

He knew he hid his frustration well. He knew others assumed it was due to the pain, the bitterness, his misanthropy. He knew they didn't realise that he hated being slow, he hated having people wait for him, he hated taking so much time to do even the simplest of things. Even Cuddy had been taken in but she was a busy woman, it had been easy to throw her off the scent. He'd been surprised when Stacy had been fooled; he'd thought she knew him better. But he soon realised that she knew the old him, the whole him, not the post-infarction, broken him. She'd never gotten that chance, she'd left before being able to get to know the broken him, driven off by his vitriol and her own guilt. And now she wasn't able to see it; blinded by her love and concern for her husband, her pain and guilt on seeing him and her concentration on her work.

But Wilson saw it; he knew and he did what he could to alleviate House's frustration. He adjusted his own walking pace to match House's limping rhythm. And not just when they were walking the corridors together. The steady pace had become ingrained, become natural to him. He'd learnt how to help in ways that House would not reject, learnt how to be subtle about helping. Little things like making two cups of coffee in the morning instead of one. Timing his own drinking so that he conveniently finished his beer just before House finished his. Ensuring that if they did go out, it was at a time that meant where they were going would be sparsely populated.

House never openly acknowledged these little things that Wilson did. It wasn't in his nature and he wasn't sure he would know _how_ to do so anyway. But he acknowledged them tacitly as best as he could. He didn't always do it well but he did what he could. He snarked so as to make Wilson laugh. He encouraged him to play hooky in the clinic because it was fun even if they did get into trouble sometimes. He paid up the ten dollars every time Wilson lost a patient because _someone_ had to point out that people died and it couldn't be avoided by simply being _nice_. And he gave his friend a sanctuary; some place he could go where people didn't expect him to _be_ nice. Where he could relax and avoid whatever was bothering him, be it the current wife, the patients, other doctors.

He made time since it was what he had so much of now.


	36. Smell

**036. Smell**

The Morning After The Night Before

The first thing Wilson noticed when he woke up was the scent of a cologne that definitely wasn't his. Underneath that he could smell sour cigarette smoke, beer and sweat. But he couldn't smell Julie's perfume. He then became aware that his head was pounding, his mouth felt like the bottom of a bird cage and his eyes were not about to co-operate with him and came to the conclusion that he was rather stunningly hung-over. It was further evidence that he was hung-over that it took until now for him to realise that he was naked, various interesting muscle groups were sore and there was also the scent of sex in the air.

He buried his face into a pillow that definitely wasn't the one on his bed and tried to remember exactly what it was he'd done the previous night other than obviously drink more than was really good for him. And have sex with someone who definitely wasn't his wife and from all the existing evidence was a man. He wasn't _overly_ worried about the last; his affairs hadn't been exclusively with women though that was something most people wouldn't guess about him. He wasn't overly worried about the former either which spoke volumes for the current state of his marriage.

In fact he now remembered it was his marriage that had prompted the drinking last night. Julie told him the previous night that she wanted a divorce and he hadn't been able to find it within himself to argue with her. But he had wanted to get enormously drunk to celebrate, if that was the word, his _third_ strike out in the marriage stakes. So he'd talked House into coming with him and they'd headed for a bar they occasionally frequented and he had proceeded to get thoroughly tanked.

Wilson sighed wearily into the pillow and contemplated finding out exactly who it was he'd gone home with the previous night. He could vaguely remember that the sex had been good but the memory of precisely who it had been with was definitely rather hazy. He was sure he was going to hear all about it from House and he'd probably better have some kind of ammunition, poor as it was likely to be, to return fire with. He took a deep breath and rolled over on his side, prying his eyes open and propping himself up on one elbow then pausing momentarily as he waited for the pounding in his head to subside somewhat. When it had faded to a dull roar, he looked over towards the man lying sprawled asleep on his back beside him in the bed and his brain stopped.

When it slowly began working again, he closed his eyes tightly then opened them and looked again. Nope, the man hadn't changed in appearance and Wilson ventured to look around the bedroom. Oh yeah, he knew this room and yes, there was the cane sitting propped against the bedside table. It was real. He looked back down to the sleeping figure of House and slumped down onto the bed.

Some vague, half-arsed plans for smothering himself with the pillow wandered through his mind but he quickly put them aside. Not because he didn't think they were valid but because he'd read somewhere that it was actually impossible to smother yourself. Instead he desperately pummelled his brain to try and dredge up the memory of precisely _how_ he had ended up having what his addled brain kept on insisting was extremely good sex with his best friend.

He remembered going to the bar. He remembered drinking though his memory did provide him with the information that House did _not_ match him in the drinking stakes in any way, shape or form. But after about the fifth beer, his memory started getting very hazy and in some places non-existent until the somewhat blurred memories of the sex started. Had he seduced House? That was the question burning through his brain. Had House _really_ wanted to have sex with him? Had he been humouring his very drunk friend? Had he _forced_ himself on House?

No, he couldn't believe the latter. For one his memory was being quite forceful in reminding him that the sex was _good_. That they'd _both_ enjoyed it. But that didn't explain why he'd ended up having very good sex with his supposedly very straight best friend who was supposedly still in love with his now-married ex. But now that he thought about it, that 'very straight' appellation for House might not be all that accurate. If his memories weren't playing him false, House had been no blushing virgin in the matters of sex with another man. In fact, if his memories weren't playing him false, House had been quite the active participant…well, active by his standards and taking into account the limitations his leg placed on him.

Wilson propped himself up on his elbow again and stared at the sleeping House curiously. Considering his own feelings and how he knew he got when drunk, it was _entirely_ possible that he had, in fact, made a probably very drunken attempt at seducing his friend. He cared about House. Hell, he loved the man, sarcasm, misanthropy and all. That was why he usually didn't get that drunk around him. Excessive consumption of alcohol lowered the inhibitions and he knew what his subconscious would want to do if he ever gave it free reign in the presence of House. What surprised him about this whole situation is obviously House had let himself be seduced. Wilson just wished he knew _why_. House had not been drunk, he was sure of that much.

He reached out with one hand and gently caressed House's cheek, wondering what was going to happen when the other man woke. He gave no thought to getting out of bed and leaving. For a start, he doubted he'd be welcome in his own home and he didn't want to test that theory out. The hospital was probably not a good idea either. He was supposed to have the weekend off and he really didn't want any rumours starting about why he was suddenly present. But the main reason he stayed was because this would be a bad thing to let fester between the two of them.

House shifted slightly and Wilson pulled his hand back hurriedly. As he watched, House slowly woke up. Wilson could tell the exact moment when House became fully aware as that was then he tensed and grimaced as the pain from his leg made itself known. He could also tell the exact moment when House became aware that he was not alone in the bed.

"It's…uh, me," Wilson said quietly, deciding to circumvent things a little.

"I _know_ that," House growled, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Uh…you _do_?" Wilson stammered as House's eyes opened.

Wilson couldn't help but smile at the withering look House gave him.

"_I_ wasn't the one so drunk out of my skull last night that I don't remember where I ended up," House replied sharply. "Besides I _do_ recognise your voice. I'm not deaf."

Wilson was silent as he tried to marshal his thoughts. This wasn't exactly how he'd thought this was going to go. As he tried to string a few words together, House reached out and grabbed the small orange bottle that was sitting on the bedside table. He swallowed one of the pills then put the bottle back before giving Wilson an amused look.

"Last night…" Wilson's voice trailed off uncertainly.

House smirked. "You're a pretty friendly drunk, Jimmy. At least with me you were."

Wilson licked his lips nervously. "Should I…be apologising to you? Should I…leave?"

The smirk disappeared and Wilson saw a few of House's walls go up.

"You regret it," House said flatly.

"No," Wilson said after a short pause, hoping he was saying the right thing. "I just wish I could remember it better. The memories I have are pretty hazy."

He saw the walls go back down and House leered at him almost ridiculously.

Wilson laughed at that look then sobered. "What about Stacy?"

House rolled his eyes as he tucked one hand behind his head. "She's _married_, James. Remember? Mark, the guy with porphyria?"

"You still love her," Wilson replied calmly.

House was silent for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. In some way. But I'm not _in_ love with her. She's moved on." He paused and the smirk reappeared. "And apparently so have I."

Wilson blinked. "You have?"

House's expression practically screamed 'give me _strength_!' "Do I _really_ have to answer that question? Last time I looked, I do _not_ run around having sex with anything that moves. If I did, I would have slept with Cameron."

Wilson's mouth dropped open for a moment then he snapped it shut. "I…you…we…"

"Very good," House said sarcastically. "Slightly caveman in style but you summed it up well."

Wilson shut his mouth again, not _quite_ able to process the fact that he seemed to be getting what he wanted. House rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing him around the back of the neck and pulling him into a heated, possessive kiss. Wilson gave into the kiss, still slightly confused, still not quite believing his good fortune and still vaguely wondering whether this was all a dream but deciding that since he liked it, wanted it and was apparently _getting_ it, he wasn't going to argue.


	37. Sound

**037. Sound**

Staying

Wilson sat beside the bed where House lay and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept but he wanted to be here for House, be here when he woke. He drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly as he scrubbed his face, feeling the rasp of stubble under his hands. He looked over at the unconscious man in the bed and swallowed hard. It seemed hard to believe that his entire world had been turned upside down in just a day and there was no way of knowing which direction it would be facing tomorrow.

When he'd wandered into Diagnostic Medicine yesterday morning, House had seemed alright. He was complaining about having a headache and feeling a bit run down but neither Wilson nor House's team had paid much attention. They all knew how much House liked to gripe when he was sick. House usually did a fairly good imitation of a four year old when sick and the best way to deal with it was to ignore the whining and actually pay attention to what he looked like.

But just after midday Cameron had come to see him with the full backing of both Chase and Foreman. She had told him that House seemed to be getting worse but none of them could talk him into either actually taking something for it or going home and could _he_ try? Wilson had rolled his eyes and wandered next door. When he'd gotten to the Diagnostic Medicine conference room where House was holding court, he'd been quite startled.

House really looked sick though, being his usual stubborn self, he was denying all knowledge of his own symptoms. But they were plain to see. His face was flushed, he looked slightly nauseous and he was squinting at the light. Wilson had taken one look at House and all but dragged him into his office. He'd completely ignored House's whining and dragged the actual set of symptoms out of him. When he heard that House had a terrible headache along with a stiff neck and a fever _and_ that he'd been vomiting, he'd had a nasty suspicion he knew what was wrong. However before he could say anything, House had passed out and started seizing.

The next hour had passed in a flurry with House being admitted with what Wilson suspected was bacterial meningitis. A lumbar puncture was done to test for this along with a CT scan of the head and a chest X-ray. House was started on antibiotics immediately in case it _was_ meningitis, hooked up to a heart monitor, given oxygen and IV fluids and they all came to a sudden abrupt halt as they waited for confirmation or otherwise.

When the test results had confirmed Wilson's diagnosis, he felt his heart sink. Bacterial meningitis was serious, even life threatening, but treatable. Unfortunately there was the distinct risk of long-term disabilities, even with proper treatment. Deafness, seizures, paralysis, blindness, loss of limbs; these were all possible outcomes. And they wouldn't know which, if any, had occurred until House regained consciousness.

Movement outside the room caught Wilson's attention and he looked over to see Cuddy standing outside. Cuddy gestured to him and Wilson nodded. He pushed himself to his feet and quietly left the room.

"How is he?" Cuddy asked once he'd closed the door behind him.

Wilson shrugged helplessly. "The inflammation seems to be confined to the subarachnoid space which is a good sign. We're attacking it aggressively so hopefully it won't spread any further. He's still unconscious which…isn't good but he's been moving a bit in the last hour or two so I think he may come round soon."

Cuddy hesitated for a moment. "What about the long term effects?"

"I don't know," Wilson replied grimly. "That's not a question that can be answered right now."

Cuddy grimaced and nodded. "You and House's people are taking preventative antibiotics?" she asked.

Wilson nodded. "It's probably not necessary."

"I'm aware of that," Cuddy replied. "But frankly I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"True," Wilson conceded. "Look…I'd better go back in. He could be a bit confused when he wakes and I don't want him getting upset."

Cuddy nodded and Wilson returned to his vigil. Only time would tell the course of the illness. Only time would tell what the long term results would be.

The next several days were filled with dealing with a sick, feverish and confused House. And to make matters worse, it appeared that much of the confusion was related to House having difficulty hearing and his subsequent reaction to that particular problem. When House had finally beaten off the worst of the meningitis, Wilson threatened a painful death to anyone who came near the room and prepared to deal with this.

He sat down next to the bed where House was lying, looking irritable and tense. "House…Greg? How well can you hear me?"

House flinched at the question and Wilson relaxed a fraction. It wasn't _totally_ bad news.

House breathed hard for a few minutes. "It sounds like you're talking from the next room," he admitted reluctantly, not looking at Wilson.

Wilson gave a small sigh of relief. "Well, that's…not as bad as it could have been."

House gave him a sudden angry glare, something that was not enhanced by his drawn, tired face. "Really?" he said with heavy sarcasm.

"You could be completely deaf," Wilson said bluntly and with just a hint of anger. "You could be blind. You could be having seizures. Yes, Greg, it could be worse. Your hearing's been impaired but you _can_ still hear. We can work around this."

House's hands clenched into fists and his lips thinned. He seemed to be struggling with something that finally broke free.

"So I can be even _more_ of a cripple?" he yelled. Much to Wilson's surprise House seemed to be struggling to keep back tears. He seemed to fight with himself for moment then he said in a voice so low Wilson almost missed it, "Why me?"

Wilson had to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat and he reached and took one of House's hands, pulling it out of the fist it was in and holding it.

"I don't know," he said simply. "And I wish I could take it away. We'll get through this, Greg. It's not the end of the world. You can still work. It's not like you listen to patients anyway."

House closed his eyes and gave a tiny huff of a laugh.

"You know Cuddy will do whatever she can to help," Wilson continued. "So will your team. So will I."

House gave a small nod though a frown still lingered on his face.

"Besides," Wilson continued, a sly smile growing. "Think of all the fun you can have if you learn to read lips."

House gave him a startled, slightly opaque look then the thought seemed to take root in his mind and he slowly grinned rather wickedly. Wilson chuckled, sure he would probably regret making that suggestion at some point but deciding that the smile on House's face was well worth any coming trouble.

He let go of House's hand and gave it a pat. "I'll go and make arrangements for you to see an audiologist," he said as he stood. "We can find out how bad the hearing loss is then move on from there."

House grimaced and nodded, clearly not happy about the idea. "You're staying?" he asked, his voice just slightly hesitant.

Wilson looked confused; he'd been speaking at a level that would make it easy for House to hear him. Then he saw the slightly fearful look in House's eyes and realised what was truly meant by the question.

"I'm not going anywhere."


	38. Touch

**038. Touch**

Gentle

Wilson breathed softly in the silence of the room as he ran his hands gently up House's back. Once he reached his shoulders he drew his hands slowly back down, letting his fingers feel where the tight, knotted muscles were. When he reached House's hips he spread his hands wide for a moment then returned to those tight spots and slowly began to work the knots out with firm deliberate strokes. As he worked he could hear House sigh and make small sounds of relief and he smiled gently.

He worked patiently, his hand stroking, caressing, easing, until he'd worked the last of those tense, knotted muscles out. He shifted on the bed and ran his hands lightly, almost teasingly, over House's arse, chuckling at the tiny moan he gained from that action. He ran his hands down House's left leg until he reached his foot then he began that slow massage once again.

The muscles in the left leg were tight; that leg worked hard when House walked and paid the price. Wilson had to dig his fingers in firmly in order to release the tension there and House twitched, gasped then sighed with relief as he worked. When he reached the top of the leg, he once again caressed House's arse before shifting his attention to the right leg.

He ran his hands down to the ankle and started again. If anything the tension in the muscles in this leg was worse. The calf muscles were tightly knotted and it took several minutes to get them to relax. He then shifted to the thigh and House tensed. Wilson paused and gently stroked House's hamstring, just barely touching it, until House relaxed and nodded almost imperceptibly. Wilson then began a gentle, delicate massage of the muscle.

When he finished he shifted again, gently urging House to turn over. The other man murmured something unintelligible and obeyed. Wilson caressed House's cheek then turned his attention to House's arms and hands. As he worked on easing the tense muscles he watched House's face, greedily absorbing the looks of pleasure and delight that his actions gained.

His gentle caresses down House's chest gathered similar looks with the added spectacle of quiet gasps when he ran his fingernails lightly over House's nipples. He delicately grazed his fingers over House's stomach, watching as the muscles jumped and quivered, then he trailed them over the man's hip bones. He returned to his massage on House's left leg working his way down and finally stroking the top of his foot.

On the right leg, he started at the foot and moved upwards, coming to a halt with one hand on House's right knee.

"Greg?" he murmured softly, the first word he'd spoken into the languid silence.

He received a short nod and a flash of blue eyes in reply.

He gently, carefully, ever so delicately began to work on the ruined muscle, firstly carefully attacking the whipcord tight adductors. House winced and drew in a sharp breath that he slowly and shakily released as Wilson's actions began to take effect. Wilson continued stroking until House had completely relaxed again then he moved over to the ruined quadriceps. Here he kept his touch to a mere caress, more an acknowledgment than an actual massage.

Wilson gave the scarred leg one final caress then, with a wicked look at the hint of blue he could see watching him, he gently closed one hand around the hard cock that he had up until that point been ignoring. House let out a breathless whimper and Wilson slowly began to move his hand up and down, using his thumb to spread the drops of pre-cum that beaded at the tip. He kept his rhythm steady and constant, drawing moans, gasps and whimpers from his lover. Finally he could bear it no longer and he wrapped his free hand around his own dick, matching the rhythm to the one he was using on House.

A muffled curse was all the warning he got before House's hips jerked erratically and he came, the hot liquid spilling over Wilson's hand. It took only three more strokes of his own cock before his own orgasm overcame him. He sagged where he was sitting until he caught his breath then he lazily reached for towel he'd tossed on the bed earlier. He cleaned them both up then lobbed the towel in the general direction of the bathroom. As he did so, a hand reached up and grabbed his wrist. He looked down to find House looking at him with a contented smile then the older man pulled him down to lie alongside him. Wilson curled into his lover and sighed when House wrapped his arms around him. He buried his face into House's neck and they lay there, the silence settling over them once more.


	39. Taste

**039. Taste**

Obsession

Wilson loves the taste of beer on House's lips. He loves the taste of sweet and sour pork on House's lips. He loves the taste of hot pepperoni on House's lips. He loves the taste of coffee on House's lips.

He loves the taste of House.

House is remarkably indulgent of Wilson's new obsession and Wilson sometimes suspects House of deliberately setting things up so that he is forced to kiss, to lick, to nibble and draw off every last remnant of whatever had touched House's lips.

But he can never stop there. He just has to continue. Along the stubbled cheek to suck on House's earlobe and nibble on the sensitive skin just below the ear. Down the long neck to the juncture with the shoulder to taste the skin there. Back up again over House's Adam's apple to capture the moans he'd just induced in a kiss.

And best of all, House loves the taste of Wilson too.


	40. Sight

**040. Sight**

There Are None So Blind…

House was deep into research on what was ailing his current patient when he became aware that someone was standing in front of his desk. He looked up from the book he was reading with an air of resigned patience then raised an eyebrow when he realised it was Cuddy.

"Dr Wilson has been hurt," she said abruptly. "He was taken down to the ER and has been treated. I need you to take him home. You both have the next three days off."

House blinked as he processed all of that. "What happened?" he demanded, grabbing his cane and getting to his feet.

"He was preparing to do a biopsy and there was a problem with the autoclave," Cuddy explained, heading for the door then stopping and waiting impatiently for House to catch up. "He went over to help the nurse and it…exploded somehow. Both he and the nurse were splashed with the boiling water from the autoclave. The nurse was hit in the chest but the water caught Dr Wilson on the face."

House came to a halt and stared at Cuddy for a moment then he turned and headed straight for the lifts. Cuddy caught up with him as he waited.

"I'll speak to your team," she said briskly. "I'm sure they can cope on their own for a few days."

House barely heard her and certainly didn't care about what she'd said. The moment the lift arrived he limped in and pressed the button for the appropriate floor. He didn't notice that Cuddy hadn't joined him.

When he got to the ER, he collared the first nurse he found and demanded to know where Wilson was. She seemed to have been expecting him because she simply pointed to a curtained off area at one end.

"You can take him home at any time," she called after House as he limped away.

He slipped around the curtains and winced at the sight of his friend. Wilson was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes covered with white bandages and his face red and puffy. His hands were resting on his thighs, clenching and unclenching almost convulsively as he swallowed repeatedly.

"Hey," House said quietly.

"House?" Wilson said hesitantly, his head swinging around in his direction.

House limped over and tapped Wilson's knee with one finger. "Who else?"

Wilson gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, who else," he said bitterly.

House cocked an eyebrow and came to some swift conclusions about the state of Wilson's marriage.

"How bad?" he asked, deciding to avoid what was obviously a tender subject.

"Not as bad as it looks," Wilson replied, letting out a shaky breath. "Scalding mostly. It's fairly superficial. The ophthalmologist has already taken a look and he thinks there won't be any permanent damage."

House stepped closer and grabbed Wilson's chin to have a closer look at the facial scalding.

"No blistering," he observed.

"God, House, don't _do_ that without giving me some warning," Wilson said, one hand coming up to grab at House's wrist. "And I know there's no blistering. It's all been looked at. I'll be fine. I just have to keep the bandages on for a few days."

"Cuddy gave us both time off," House replied and he let go of Wilson's chin though he didn't object when Wilson kept hold of his wrist.

"She told me," Wilson replied then he let go of House's wrist and lowered himself off the bed. "Can we get out of here?"

"Do you have any prescriptions to get filled?" House asked as he grabbed Wilson's groping hand and placed it on his arm.

Wilson looked around blindly. "Uh, there should be a bag…"

House saw it and grabbed it, pressing it into Wilson's free hand.

"Thanks," Wilson said with relief. "Tobramycin as an antibiotic and Voltaren for an analgesic."

"Well, I have Vicodin if it starts to really hurt," House said, getting a small laugh from Wilson as he led him out of the ER.

"Yeah, I know," Wilson replied dryly. "Thanks."

When they got to House's car, he helped Wilson fumble his way into the passenger seat then drove them both home to his apartment.

The rest of the day was spent trying to sort out how to deal with Wilson's temporary disability. While he'd been to House's home more times than he could think of, he found that he didn't remember the layout as well as he thought and this cost him several times in the form of barked shins. Every time this happened House snapped at him to sit down and Wilson snapped back that he wasn't completely helpless. By the time evening arrived both of them were considerably on edge and they ate their dinner in silence before House shifted over to the piano and began flitting through a variety of songs, playing a few bars before shifting to something else.

Finally Wilson broke the tense silence. "I…I should take a shower," he said firmly. "I'll need help."

House stopped playing and grabbed his cane. "Yeah, okay," he muttered then he limped over to where Wilson was lying on the couch.

House led Wilson to the bathroom and made sure he knew where everything was. He then turned to leave and Wilson reached out blindly, his hand bumping into House's side.

"Stay," Wilson said. "I won't be long and I'll…need your help with the antibiotics."

House nodded and he lowered himself to sit on the stool that had taken up permanent residence in his bathroom. "Uh, yeah, okay."

Wilson felt for the door to the shower then stripped off his clothes and climbed in, fumbling for the taps. True to his word, he didn't take too long in the shower and fairly shortly he was groping for his towel.

House picked up and handed it to him wordlessly, trying to ignore the oddly enticing sight of a very naked and very wet James Wilson. He thought he'd long ago beaten his feelings for Wilson into submission but the sight in front of him was rather rapidly proving him wrong and for the first time since he found out what had happened he was glad Wilson was currently blind. He was fairly sure his expression was giving him away and if _that_ wasn't then the bulge in his jeans certainly would be. He watched with an oddly bitter fascination as Wilson dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist.

"Can you do the honours with the antibiotics?" Wilson asked.

"Sure," House said a little hoarsely then he cleared his throat.

He stood and guided Wilson over until he was sitting on the stool. The tube of antibiotic cream was already on the bench along with new bandages and House gently pulled the old ones off.

"Keep your eyes closed," he murmured as he pulled the gauze away, wincing slightly at the red, puffy skin that was revealed.

He carefully opened one of Wilson's eyes, noting with a grimace the red and irritated surface that was revealed.

"How much can you see?" he asked as he gently applied the antibiotic cream and spread it over the eye.

"Not much," Wilson admitted. "And even less with the cream in. It's all pretty blurry."

House grunted as he placed the new gauze and bandages over the eye then he repeated the process with the other eye. He was just screwing the lid back on the tube when Wilson raised one hand towards his face and inadvertently brushed the front of House's jeans.

House gasped and nearly dropped the tube and they both froze. For a few moments there was a silence in the room that only emphasized House's suddenly harsh breathing. Then Wilson let his hand brush over the bulge in House's jeans again. House's hand shot down and grabbed his wrist in a grip just short of painful.

"What are you doing?" he demanded tightly.

"It's amazing what you find out when you can't see," Wilson replied almost conversationally, prying his wrist free.

Before House could react, Wilson had reached out with both hands and run them not only over the front of House's jeans but also up and _under_ his shirt as far as he could reach. When Wilson's fingers ran over then tweaked his nipples, House moaned and lost all ability to protest any further. He could only hope that Wilson knew what he was doing. That question was answered in many different ways when one of Wilson's hands drifted back down over his stomach and cupped his straining dick through his jeans.

"_James_!" he gasped as his hips bucked forward involuntarily.

Both of Wilson's hands dropped down to House's hips to catch and steady him and the younger man chuckled.

"I think we should take this to your bed," he said warmly. "I think it'd be a lot safer considering the two of us. And I want to see what else I can see without my eyes. It seems it's a better way of working out what you want."

House had to swallow hard before he could answer. "I'm a big supporter of helping the blind to see," he said a touch unsteadily as he grabbed Wilson's hands and pulled him to his feet.

He saw the smile that curved Wilson's lips and privately thought it had to be the single most seductive thing he'd ever seen on the other man.

"Good," Wilson replied and they walked out of the bathroom.


	41. Sweat

**041. Sweat**

Hot

The heat and humidity of the summer day hung heavy in the air and House mentally cursed his broken air-conditioning as he lay flat on his bed. The repair man wouldn't be able to get out until the next day and House was sure that whatever he would have paid to get the repairs done on a Saturday was going to be _twice_ as much on a Sunday. As sweat trickled down his face and bare chest he decided he didn't care anymore. The bedroom was the coolest room in the apartment and he'd retreated here and stripped down to his boxers as soon as he'd been told he was going to have to wait for the repairs to be done.

He contemplated getting up and getting in the shower, standing under the cold water might just do him some good. Then his leg twinged and he vetoed that idea immediately. The humidity wasn't doing much for his leg; it ached and throbbed even more than usual and he had actually gotten to the point where he was very wary about taking any more Vicodin.

He heard the sound of a key in the door and tilted his head. He wasn't worried, there was really only one person it could be and he was right.

"House?" Wilson's voice called from the living room. "Damn! It's hot in here."

House didn't bother answering since he could hear Wilson's footsteps approaching the bedroom. He tucked a hand behind his sweat-soaked head and looked over at the doorway. Wilson appeared in a few seconds and blinked when he saw the near-naked House lying there. The room was dim but Wilson was standing in the corridor and that was still well-lit. As such House couldn't miss the look of surprise, want, desire and lust that washed over Wilson's face. His dick twitched in response and he also didn't miss the fact that Wilson had clearly seen _that_ as well.

As he watched Wilson seemed to search for something in his face. He plainly found whatever he was looking for because in a sudden move, he pulled his tie off and let it fall to the floor. When he began unbuttoning his shirt, House managed to find his voice.

"Are you sure?" he said hoarsely, knowing there was no point denying his attraction. His now hard cock, plain to see in just the boxers, made denial an impossibility.

Wilson gave him a slow smile and he shrugged out of his shirt and unbuckled his belt. "Oh, yeah."

Wilson let his trousers fall to the floor and kicked them off along with his shoes. He bent down and pulled his socks off and when he stood, House could see that Wilson was as hard as he was.

"Come here," House said in what was almost a growl and Wilson grinned as he slowly walked over to the bed.

"God, it's hot in here," Wilson said idly as he crawled onto the bed and straddled House's hips, his hands coming to rest near his shoulders.

"You have no idea," House replied, running his hands down Wilson's sides and over his arse.


	42. Tears

**042. Tears**

I'll Be There

House limped out onto the balcony, coffee cup in hand, and raised his face to the warm sun. He closed his eyes as he stood there and sighed deeply. As he did this, a muffled sound came to him and he opened his eyes and looked around curiously.

Wilson was sitting hunched over in the chair on his section of the balcony, his face buried in his hands. The muffled sounds were clearly coming from him. His shoulders were shaking and House was fairly sure he was crying. He put his coffee cup down and rather awkwardly and more than a touch painfully manoeuvred himself over the low wall that separated the two sections of balcony. It was a measure of Wilson's preoccupation that in spite of House making no attempt to be quiet, he never once looked up.

Once he was over the wall, House limped over to the chair and knocked Wilson's shoe lightly with his cane. Wilson looked up with surprise and House saw that he'd been right; Wilson was crying, the tracks of tears running down his cheeks.

"What's up?" House asked slightly awkwardly.

Wilson swallowed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I…Nothing. Everything."

"Gotta be one or the other," House observed as he tapped his cane on the ground.

"I just told a six year old girl and her parents that she'll be dead before Christmas," Wilson said drearily. "Before that I told a forty-year-old mother of four that she'll be dead before the end of the month. And before _that_ I told a twenty year old man that if he's lucky he'll get another year to spend with his baby son." He paused and looked like he was about to start crying again. "And Julie's moved out. She hates me."

House was quiet for a moment then he reached out and laid a hand on Wilson's shoulder. The younger man _did_ dissolve into tears at this. House stepped forward and Wilson wrapped his arms around House's waist, burying his face into the slightly wrinkled shirt. House shifted his hand and gently stroked Wilson's hair.

"Guess I owe you thirty bucks," he said after several minutes and he heard Wilson give a shuddering huff of laughter against his shirt.

"Twenty," came the muffled answer. "The six year old and her parents were too shocked to say anything."

"Well, that's good for me," House said in an off-hand manner, gaining another small huff of laughter.

Finally Wilson pulled away from House and wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. He looked a little calmer and more settled and he climbed to his feet. He took a deep breath and looked House in the eyes.

"Thank you."


	43. Blood

**043. Blood**

Shaken

House looked around the chaotic ER wearily and tried not to collapse where he was standing. People were everywhere. Doctors and nurses were hurrying in every direction looking harried, worried and exhausted. Patients were lying on beds or sitting in chairs, crying, screaming, shocked, stunned. And there was blood everywhere. So much blood. Bloodied bandages. Bloodied gloves and scrubs. Bloodied instruments that been dropped and just left where they'd fallen in the chaos. Blood that had dripped or run or _flowed_ from the people that had been treated.

There had been a multi-car pile-up on a train crossing that had involved two buses, eight cars, a cyclist and three motorbikes. Then the inevitable had happened and a train had ploughed into the whole lot. Most of the casualties had been brought to Princeton-Plainsboro and every doctor who was available had been summoned to the ER to help out with the triage.

"Dr House?"

He barely heard the voice through his exhaustion and he wasn't entirely sure how he was staying on his feet. His hand was gripping the handle of his cane tightly, his knuckles almost white. His leg was shooting stabs of agonising pain though his hip and up his back and was the main reason he'd come to a sudden halt after sending his last patient up for x-rays.

"Dr House!"

The urgency in the voice had him turning his head and he saw Cuddy standing next to him looking very concerned. He blinked slowly at her as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

"The worst of it is over," she said slowly and House blinked again, feeling blank and drained.

He saw Cuddy turn away from him and gesture for someone to join them. It took a few minutes for the person to finish what he was doing then Wilson walked over, frowning when he saw House's unresponsive state.

"Get him out of here," Cuddy said kindly but firmly. "You've _both_ done enough tonight."

Wilson gave a heavy sigh of relief then he reached out and placed his hand on House's arm. "House?"

House let his gaze wander over to his friend and he opened his mouth but he still couldn't find the strength to say anything. Wilson seemed to understand and he gently guided House into the deserted clinic and got him to sit down in one of the waiting room chairs.

"Stay here," he said gently. "I'm just going to get our stuff then I'll be back."

House gave an almost imperceptible nod and Wilson hurried off. He was back within ten minutes then he carefully got House to his feet and guided him out of the hospital and to his car. The drive to House's apartment was silent and Wilson once again had to carefully steer House into his home. Once inside House seemed to revive a little and he looked down at the blood-stained scrubs he was still wearing, making a small sound of disgust.

Wilson was by his side in an instant and easily divined the reason for his noise. House could see that the oncologist was also wearing scrubs though his weren't quite so messy.

"I didn't want to wait and get changed at the hospital," Wilson explained as he nudged House in the direction of the bathroom. "It would have been just our luck to get waylaid and dragged back into that nightmare. We'll just throw these out. They won't miss them."

Wilson had managed to get House into the bathroom by this stage and he took the cane from House's hand, leaning it against the bench.

"Get out of those scrubs," Wilson said before disappearing out of the room.

He was back in fairly short order with a change of clothes for both of them and a small orange bottle. House had only managed to pull off the top and he let it drop to the floor when Wilson returned. Wilson put the clothes on the bench and opened the bottle, shaking one of the small white pills out. He held it out the House who took and swallowed it with a grateful look.

Wilson gave him a small smile then helped House get out of the rest of his scrubs. He stripped his own scrubs off and started the shower. Once the water was running hot, he helped House into the shower and joined him. He grabbed the soap and began gently washing the sweat and blood off House. As he did so House slowly began to thaw and started shaking. Once that happened, Wilson put the soap down and moved close, drawing House into his arms. House was stiff in the embrace for a moment then he slowly brought his own arms up until he was clinging tightly to Wilson and shaking desperately.

Wilson said nothing, simply held him upright and rubbed his back lightly until the shudders subsided. Even after they faded, House stayed where he was, not having the motivation or the desire to move. The only thing he did was turned his head and press his lips against Wilson's neck. He felt Wilson's contented sigh then he was being pushed back slightly. His protests were silenced by a warm look from Wilson and the younger man quickly finished cleaning them both off. He was guided out of the shower and dried off then Wilson handed him the t-shirt and boxers he'd brought in.

House clumsily dressed then Wilson picked up his cane and handed it to him. They made their way out into the bedroom and Wilson chivvied him into bed. He collapsed onto the comfortable surface with a sigh then rolled over when Wilson joined him. He draped himself over his lover and buried his face in Wilson's neck.

Wilson wrapped him up in a loving embrace and began running his hands up and down his back soothingly.

"Go to sleep," Wilson murmured quietly. "You need it. I haven't seen you work yourself to a standstill like that in years."

"Think Cuddy'll give me time off from the clinic?" House muttered, his voice slurred and muffled.

Wilson laughed softly. "After today, you might actually get lucky on that score. I think she was impressed."

"Good," House slurred as sleep started to lay its claim on him. Just before he finally succumbed he murmured, "Thank you. Love you."


	44. Surgery

**044. Surgery**

I Don't Like Her

_I should cancel. I've got a patient in surgery tomorrow. _

_And if you were a surgeon that would actually matter. _

For brief moment House genuinely wished he _was_ a surgeon as he limped towards the kitchen and let the conversation continue almost as background noise. He also wished Wilson had backed him up in his admittedly lame attempt to find a way out of this…_date_ tonight. The last thing he really wanted to be doing tonight was going out with Cameron and attempting what was most likely going to be excruciatingly agonising small talk. He wasn't good at small talk. In fact he _sucked_ at small talk. And with Cameron who liked him for all the wrong reasons and who he…well, he _did_ like her, sort of. She was an excellent doctor when she actually remembered she _was_ a doctor and not a shoulder for the patients and their families to cry on. But that was about the extent of his liking for her. Maybe he should tell her about Chase and his father, maybe that would redirect all that _caring_ onto someone who might appreciate it more.

What he _really_ wanted to do was stay home. He wanted to drink beer and eat pizza and mock the Yankees with Wilson. Actually he wanted to do more than just that with Wilson but he'd gotten very good at hiding that fact and now he wasn't even sure if Wilson still remembered that House harboured those feelings. Maybe Wilson thought they'd died along with the muscle tissue in House's thigh.

_We're in a restaurant, we're dressed up, we're eating. If not small talk, what is there?_

_According to Freud, and I'm paraphrasing, instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it, and if a person feels they can't control the object or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. Like an eighth-grade boy punching a girl._

_I treat you like garbage, so I must really like you. Given your Freudian theory, what does it mean if I start being nice to you?_

_That you're getting in touch with your feelings._

_Hmm. So there's absolutely nothing I can do to make you think that I don't like you._

_Sorry, no. I have one evening with you, one chance, and I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel about me._

_You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect. That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer. You don't love, you need. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age, I'm not great looking, I'm not charming, I'm not even nice. What I am is what you need. I'm damaged._

He picked up the menu and started reading. He knew he'd been cruel…honest but cruel…and that Cameron would need time to compose herself. He therefore wasn't surprised when she excused herself after a few moments to go to the bathroom.

There was some small part of him that did wish he could love someone like Cameron. It would be easier, simpler, if he could. Life had been good with Stacy after all…at least until the infarction, then everything had fallen apart. Only Wilson had stayed after that. Only Wilson had let his anger, his bitterness, his frustration, his anguish wash over him. Only Wilson had been patient enough to help him see that there was life after the infarction. That he could still _be_ someone, _do_ something. He knew that Wilson had talked Cuddy into establishing the Diagnostic Medicine department and putting him in charge of it. They'd never spoken about it but House was genuinely grateful to his friend for doing that.

Cameron returned at this point and House put the menu down. He supposed that it behooved him after his honest but cruel comment to at least try and reduce the potential awkwardness of the rest of the evening in spite if his dislike for small talk. So they talked, mostly about work, about Foreman, Chase, Cuddy and Wilson. House described some of his earlier cases, ones that none of the three had been around for, and the rest of the evening passed with what might be called strained politeness. He dropped Cameron off at her apartment and went home, disappointed to find the place empty.

_She had the ravioli, I had the puttanesca._

_Yes, I really want to know about the quality of the food. Either something very good happened, or something very bad. Which is it?_

_Well, I did have a little indigestion afterwards. Maybe it was the garlic bread._

_Nothing deep, mostly small talk._

_I'm sure._

_Took your advice, complimented her shoes, that's fifteen minutes of chat right there._

_Just answer one question:_

_You two going to do dinner again?_

_I don't think so._

It wasn't until the fiasco with Harvey Park was all over that House was able to think about Wilson's reaction to that blunt 'I don't think so'. Wilson's reactions through the whole conversation had been odd. House wasn't sure if the other man had wanted to hear that things had gone well or that the whole thing had been a disaster. And his reaction after the 'I don't think so' had been even harder to read. House frowned as he leaned back in his chair. Many people thought Wilson was easy to understand but that was because they never looked beyond the obvious. House did and knew that Wilson was the absolute definition of deeper waters.

Before he had a chance to make a decision about Wilson, the man himself walked into the office and sat down in his normal chair in front of the desk.

"Are you alright?" Wilson asked with mild concern.

House raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am. Why?"

"I thought you'd be…disappointed about what happened?" Wilson replied.

House shrugged and deliberately misinterpreted the question. "Hey, fulminating osteomylitis is pretty cool. Certainly more interesting than an aneurysm."

Wilson gave him a look of patient exasperation. "I was talking about Cameron."

"Oh, her," House replied in an off-hand manner. "Why would I be disappointed?"

Wilson frowned slightly. "I though you liked her?"

House shifted in his seat and shrugged. "She's a good doctor when she concentrates on what's _wrong_ with the patient instead of the actual patient."

"That's not what I was talking about," Wilson replied.

House was silent for a moment. "I don't like her. I don't know everybody thinks I'm lying when I say that. _I don't like her_. Not in that way."

"House, you can't spend the rest of your life alone," Wilson said with exasperation. "You've got to give _someone_ a chance sometime."

"I did," House replied shortly. "It didn't work out." He shot a glance at Wilson and saw the other man's eyes widen slightly as he ventured into territory they normally stayed well away from.

"And whose fault was that?" Wilson said with admirable casualness.

House stared at him flatly and dropped the pretence. "You got married so I think that's your answer."

Wilson dropped his eyes to the floor and silence fell again.

"Maybe I was wrong," Wilson finally said, glancing up at House.

House stared at Wilson with disbelief then snorted scornfully. "I'll believe that when you turn up on my doorstep without a wife. Or a girlfriend."

"You want chocolates and flowers as well?" Wilson replied, his tone slightly facetious but his eyes serious.

House blinked at that response and wondered if he dared to allow himself to hope. "I was thinking beer and pizza actually."

"I see what I can arrange," Wilson said then he stood and walked out the door, leaving House to stare at him with confusion, hope and a slowly growing smile.


	45. Clinic

**045. Clinic**

Restrictions

Wilson was just leaving the room of one of his patients when the page sounded over the intercom, asking him to come down to the clinic. He frowned slightly then his lips twitched and he glanced down at his watch. Yes, House would be down there right now and the page no doubt came from him. Wilson wandered back to his office and put the file he'd been carrying down on the desk before heading downstairs.

When he got to the clinic he was directed to Exam Room 2 by one of the nurses with a long suffering sigh and a roll of the eyes. He swallowed another smile as he ambled along the corridor. House must actually be mostly behaving himself today if the only reaction from the nurses was a sigh and a roll of the eyes. He knocked lightly on the door of the exam room and walked in to find House in there…alone.

"Aren't you meant to have a patient in here?" he asked with amusement.

House grinned at him. "Supposedly. But what Cuddy doesn't know won't hurt me." He paused and the grin turned decidedly lecherous. "Lock the door."

Wilson's breath caught at the look House bestowed him then he licked his lips. "House," he said warningly. "We said we weren't going to do this at work anymore."

"_You_ said we weren't going to do this at work," House said as he got to his feet and limped towards Wilson. "I, on the other hand, made no such promises."

By this stage he had backed Wilson up against the door and he reached past him and flicked the lock closed.

"House," Wilson said firmly though part of him was wondering why on earth he was protesting when he had House's warm body pressed up against his own. "We are _not_ having sex in an exam room in the _clinic_."

House raised an eyebrow as he pressed himself against Wilson more firmly then leaned his cane against the wall.

"Why not?" he said with mock-interest. "We've had sex in your office, _my_ office, that storage room on the fourth floor and that room in the empty ward on the sixth floor. Surely an exam room is just a natural progression?"

While he had been speaking, House had wrapped one arm around his lover to steady himself while his other hand started undoing the button of Wilson's shirt. In return Wilson's arms had come up to support him almost automatically and House inwardly congratulated himself for taking advantage of Wilson's natural instinct to help him.

"Well, that's _true,_" Wilson replied, desperately trying to maintain a certain level of control. Something that was becoming increasingly difficult with the tiny caresses House was bestowing on the skin revealed by the unbuttoned shirt. "But we nearly got caught on _three_ of those four occasions and this is more than likely going to become the _fourth_ occasion."

"Nonsense," House said as he slowly began undoing Wilson's belt and pants. "The nurses think I'm with a patient. They think you're here to do a consult. They're not going to interrupt us."

By this stage House had succeeded in undoing Wilson's pants and he shoved them down along with Wilson's underwear and wrapped his hand around his lover's dick. Wilson moaned and his head fell back against the door with an audible thunk. When House's hand did not move, he took a deep breath and gave House an almost pleading look. House merely raised an eyebrow in response, a challenging look in his eyes and Wilson gave a shuddering laugh, trying to remember what House had last said.

"Where _is_ your patient anyway?" he managed in a shaky voice after a few moments.

He was rewarded by House's hand tightening and moving back and forward and he moaned his approval.

"I sent him to the cafeteria with twenty bucks and instructions to stay there for an hour," House replied conversationally though he was by no means unaffected by the sight in front of him.

"Twenty bucks," Wilson said through gasping breaths. "That's generous."

"I had excellent motivation," House replied.

Wilson made a sound that closely resembled a whine when House suddenly removed his hand. His eyes flashed open in time to see House reached for his cane and use it to brace himself while he gingerly lowered himself to his knees, a wince the only indication he would allow of how much it cost him to do that.

"House…Greg!" he said urgently, his hands reaching down to his lover.

House ignored him and dropped his cane, forestalling any further protests by wrapping his mouth around Wilson's dick. Once again the thunk of Wilson's head hitting the door resounded through the room and House pulled away, once again ignoring the whine of protest from Wilson.

"You know, you might want to try a bit of silence there, Dr Wilson," he said with wicked amusement. "Or the nurses'll never believe we're treating a patient in here."

"_Greg_!" Wilson pleaded.

House chuckled and returned his attention to the task at hand. As he established a hot, tight, wet rhythm he felt one of Wilson's hands come to rest in his hair while a quick glance upwards showed him that Wilson's other hand was clamped over his mouth, muffling the moans and half-formed words. It was probably more a tribute to the potential danger of being caught as much as House's knowledge of exactly what Wilson liked that had the younger man shuddering to completion in fairly short order. House pulled away and licked his lips to catch the last of Wilson's come, his hands resting on Wilson's hips to steady him as certain realisations hit home. When Wilson had recovered and caught his breath, he cupped House's cheek with one hand and smiled.

"I think I owe you something," he said, reaching down to help House stand.

House caught his hand in an iron grip and shook his head and Wilson realised that his lover was far too still and his face was taut and fixed.

"Greg?" he said quietly.

House was silent for a long, long moment then he looked up with a somewhat wry and very pained smile.

"Next time I get the idea to do this, remind me that I really _do_ have some limitations," he said tightly. There would be no need for Wilson to reciprocate. The pain that was rippling through him from his thigh had effectively doused any and all arousal he'd been feeling.

Wilson quickly did up his pants then crouched down. "Will you let me help you?" he said firmly.

House nodded shortly. "No choice. Not really _that_ interested in spending the rest of eternity down here."

Wilson took a deep breath and slid his hands under House's arms and between the two of them they managed to lever House to his feet. They once again found themselves in the position of Wilson being pressed to the door by House; this time with House's face pressed into Wilson's shoulder, his shuddering, gasping breaths giving all the information on House's state of being that was needed. Wilson reached into House's jacket pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills in there. He then helped his lover sit down on a stool and watched as he took one of the pills. House plucked the bottle from Wilson's fingers and shoved it back in his pocket.

As they waited for the Vicodin to provide what relief it could, Wilson gently caressed House's face and shoulders.

"I still owe you," he said quietly, trying to bring some humour back into the room.

House's shoulder's relaxed slightly as the drugs took effect and he raised his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I'll collect tonight when we can use a bed," he said. "So are you going to argue about sex in the exam rooms now?"

Wilson gave a small laugh as he started buttoning his shirt again. "I'm actually not sure whether to say yes or no."


	46. Life

**046. Life**

Nothing

_She enjoys life more than you do._

_She stole that kiss from Chase. What have you done lately?_

House lounged on his couch and swirled the scotch around in the glass. Those three statements from Wilson kept coming back to him again and again, swirling around in his mind like the scotch in his glass.

_She enjoys life more than you do._

House snorted. That one was no surprise. _Everyone_ enjoyed life more than he did. Life for him was painful and difficult. He grimaced as he took a drink. That wasn't entirely true. He knew half his problems were of his own making. His anger and bitterness were his own choice but they helped. They helped him get up when his leg hurt in the morning. They helped him think when the drugs slowed his thought processes. Besides life occasionally had its moments. He refused to think about the fact that most moments came in the company of James Wilson.

_She stole that kiss from Chase. What have you done lately?_

What had he done lately? He'd gone on that disastrous date with Cameron. He'd drifted around Stacy. He'd avoided thinking about Wilson entirely.

But the thing was Cameron was never going to work. They were too different and she liked him for all the wrong reasons. He'd almost believed that she might be worth taking a chance with until she'd told him about her dead husband. Then all he'd wanted to do was stay as far away from her as possible. He hadn't been entirely sure about the source of her _need_ and her desire to _fix_ everybody but when he'd finally found out, he'd instantly known why she liked _him_. And that was not how he wanted to be wanted.

Stacy. He freely admitted to himself that her reappearance had conjured up a whole swath of mixed emotions. It had been bad enough when Wilson had missed a night of monster trucks to have dinner with her. That news had caused a flinch or two but he'd been able to push it aside easily enough. But to see her again had…hurt. Yes, it had hurt and just for a moment he'd hoped. Hoped that she was back for him. But she wasn't, for all of her mixed feelings she wasn't back for him. And that hurt even more because part of him still loved her as much as another part hated her. He snorted into his glass at _that_ thought. It was probably the most blatant sign that rekindling that relationship wouldn't work when he hated as much as he loved.

_What have you done lately?_

Not much, he admitted to himself with a sigh. Not much. But he wanted to. He wanted to do more than steal a kiss but he couldn't. Because he wanted to steal a kiss from the wrong person. He wanted to steal a kiss from his best friend. His only friend, really. Wilson. He wanted to kiss and be kissed by Wilson. He wanted more from Wilson. He wanted so much from Wilson.

But Wilson had Julie.

And he had nothing.


	47. Death

**047. Death**

Nothing

Death came swiftly as death is prone to do. One minute Wilson was driving along the road to House's apartment, the next the truck had ploughed into the side of the car. He'd died instantly. Another stupid pointless death in a litany of stupid pointless deaths from road accidents.

House stood at the side of the grave, his hand clenched around the handle of his cane and stared down at the green grass, rain starting to fall around him.

The funeral had been almost unbearable. Julie weeping ostentatiously for a husband she'd stopped caring for a long time ago. White-faced coworkers looking shocked and genuinely distressed at the loss of a well-liked colleague. Stoic family members mourning a lost son, brother, nephew, uncle, cousin. And House. Sitting with the family at their request, stiff and silent as he'd been since the phone call had come from Cuddy.

He hadn't gone to the wake. He had no interest in standing around with a houseful of people trying to remember Wilson as they knew him. What did they know about James Wilson? Instead he'd gone home and gotten quietly drunk, finally letting the tears of grief fall in the darkness of his living room.

He'd tried to go on. He'd tried to keep _functioning_ as he'd always done. But somehow it hadn't quite worked. He just hadn't known what he had until it was gone and beyond recall. He knew they watched him and worried about him. Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, even Stacy watched. But they didn't see. Only Wilson had known him well enough to see that he was breaking, shattering under the strain of loss.

The first mistake had been just that. A mistake, an accident. Foreman had thankfully caught it and the patient hadn't died but it had been an indication of what was to come. He could no longer concentrate on his work. It no longer drew him in when there was no more Wilson pretending to have a long-lost cousin that needed his help. No more Wilson offering interesting cases. Because Wilson _always_ seemed to find the most interesting cases.

One mistake had followed another and mostly they were caught by his team. And they said nothing. They didn't know how to approach him about it since he barely spoke to them anymore outside of matters strictly business. And they didn't want to go to Cuddy. In the wake of Wilson's death, they had rallied closer to him, protectively, defensively. And there was no Wilson go to which had been what they had always done.

But now a woman had died because he'd made another mistake; one his team hadn't caught. And their connivance was starting to come to light. The sheer number of mistakes he'd made was being uncovered. He'd been summoned to Cuddy's office this morning and placed on administrative leave while every file was scrutinised. He'd accepted that with the same still silence that had enveloped him since Wilson had died then turned and left, not seeing the worried and concerned gaze that followed him.

He knew what they would find and he briefly regretted his team's loyalty. They would pay for that and they didn't deserve it. They'd done everything they could to cover for him, to ensure that their patients survived and walked out of the hospital.

He stared down at the grave and let the small orange bottle fall from his hand. It bounced slightly before coming to rest, white label facing up, showing that it had been filled only that morning. It was now empty. House felt the nothingness he craved slowly creep over him and his cane slipped from his hand. His knees folded underneath him and he fell to the ground. He barely felt the pain from his leg as blackness overtook him.

Then he knew nothing.


	48. Hands

**048. Writer's Choice - Hands**

Little Touches

Wilson loved House's hands. They were long and slender; a surgeon's hands, a pianist's hands. Strong and sure in their movements but capable of the most delicate touch. He loved watching House play the piano; those hands dancing and gliding over the white and black keys. He loved watching House play those stupid computer games of his; watching those fingers and hands clench and work as he tried to destroy whatever electronic critter he was facing this time. He loved watching House's hands touch and caress and stroke him as they lay in House's bed as they were right now.

A gentle touch on his cheek brought him back from his thoughts and he looked over to see House watching him with a small, private smile. A smile that only Wilson got to see. He loved that too.

"You were miles away," House said idly.

Wilson returned the smile. "Just thinking. I love your hands."

House raised his eyebrows and looked down his hands, which were still gently caressing Wilson's chest and stomach.

"They're just hands," he said with quiet curious amusement.

Wilson took House's hands in his own and entwined their fingers. "I love what they do to me," he replied lazily. "I love what you do to me. I love you."

House's eyes dropped down to their entwined hands and he was silent for some time. When he finally looked into Wilson's eyes again, Wilson was surprised and delighted to see the emotions shining in them. Emotions that House usually hid from the world and even sometimes from Wilson. House pulled one hand free and gently cupped Wilson's face.

"I love you."


	49. Trust

**049. Writer's Choice – Trust**

Trust Me

"Do you trust me?"

House looked up from the game he had been playing, not hearing the sad electronic fanfare that announced his sudden death.

"What?" he said with a small frown.

"Do you trust me?" Wilson asked with a small, strange smile that House had never seen before.

"Of course," House said in an off-hand manner before frowning at the Gameboy in his hands.

"_No_," Wilson said firmly, getting his attention again. "_Do you trust me_?"

House tossed the Gameboy on his desk and looked curiously at Wilson, wondering what was prompting this urgent demand. He leaned back in his chair and considered the question.

Anyone who knew him for more than a few days would shout to the world that House had trust issues but House maintained that he had cause. The last person he'd trusted implicitly had betrayed him in a terrible, painful manner. Not to _her_ but to _him_. He'd trusted Stacy to look after things for him when he'd elected to put into the chemically induced coma. He'd _trusted_ her. And she'd betrayed that trust. She'd most likely saved his life with that betrayal but that didn't change the facts.

But this wasn't Stacy asking that question. This was Wilson. His gaze flickered over to the man standing on front of his desk. Wilson was waiting patiently, clearly quite willing to let House have all the time he needed. He didn't know why Wilson was asking this question but the answer was oddly easy to give.

"Yes," he said with sudden realisation. "Yes, I trust you."

Wilson smiled brilliantly and House's breath caught slightly. God, that smile…

His breath caught again when the smile didn't fade and Wilson walked determinedly around the desk. He swallowed hard as Wilson grabbed his chin then leaned down and kissed him. Ferociously. Possessively. Like he finally had what he wanted.

House let a hand curl around the back of Wilson's neck, deepening the kiss and contemplating the benefits of trusting someone.


	50. Choice

**050. Writer's Choice – Choice**

Given A Choice

Wilson wandered into House's office and casually dropped into his usual chair. House put down the file he had been reading and raised an eyebrow at his friend, amused at the slightly smug, slightly determined air about the other man.

"What brings you to my humble office?" House said, leaning back in his chair.

In reply, Wilson tossed a large envelope on the desk. House gave a small shrug and picked it up, pulling out the papers inside. He blinked at what they revealed. Divorce papers. Divorce papers initiated by Wilson. Signed, done, over.

"_You_ divorced _her_?" House asked incredulously.

"Yes," Wilson said simply.

House put the papers down. "Why?"

Wilson gave him a speculative look. "Because I finally decided I was sick of avoiding this…_thing_ between us. Because I was tired of lying to yet another wife and hurting her, even inadvertently. Because I think it's about damn time I started going after what I want. And what I think you want." He paused and took a deep breath. "I've made my choice. Now it's your turn. You know where to find me."

With that Wilson picked up the papers and the envelope and walked out of the office, leaving a surprised and stunned House behind him.

House stared after Wilson, absolutely speechless for one of the few times in his life. He was glad the other man was giving him this time because he could not have answered the implicit question right now for all the money in the world. They _never_ spoke of what lay between them. They ignored it, they walked around it, they let it lie. Because Wilson always married another wife.

But now he'd divorced his wife. Admittedly things had not been good between him and Julie but this was still a first. Wilson usually hung on until the wives finally discarded him; he didn't do the discarding. And it was done to take a chance that might be denied.

So now it was _his_ choice. Did he continue on the way things had always gone? Or did he take a chance and maybe, just _maybe_, gain something he'd always wanted, something _good_?

He stared down at his desk and came to the slow realisation that there wasn't a choice. Not even he could turn down this chance. Not even he could deny himself something he'd wanted for years. And honestly, when was the last time he'd denied Wilson?

House grabbed his cane and limped determinedly out of his office, ignoring the curious looks from his team. He walked next door and into Wilson's office without knocking. He knew that Wilson would not have anyone in there. He knew that Wilson would have known his response.

And as he suspected Wilson was waiting, leaning against his desk and smiling.

"Yes," House said simply then Wilson was right in front of him.

House reached up and gently stroked Wilson's cheek. The younger man leaned into the caress then returned it before leaning in and kissing House.

"Good choice," Wilson murmured against House's lips before wrapping his arms around the older man and deepening the kiss.


	51. Insides

**004. Insides**

Internalisation

Gregory House kept his thoughts to himself, he kept himself to himself, he kept his emotions, his feelings, everything that made him _him_ to himself. He knew most people thought he was open and honest but they only saw what he allowed them to see. And all he would let them see was the mean and nasty Dr House. Because that was safer. That kept people away. People could only hurt him. The last time he'd willingly let someone close they'd allowed him to be mutilated. They'd gone against his wishes and they'd done it deliberately.

But that was willingly. It was only in the last few months that he'd realised that someone _had_ gotten close to him and he'd never realised it. Okay, he'd never really _tried_ to keep James Wilson out but he'd also never gone out of his way to let him in either. But somehow it had happened.

He hadn't realised it until he saw Wilson chatting and laughing with that nurse. He didn't know the nurse's name; he certainly couldn't recall seeing her before. Possibly she was new. Whichever it was Wilson was leaning in and flirting with her for all he was worth. Now House had no reason to complain about that; Julie had left him three weeks ago and the divorce was proceeding rapidly. Wilson certainly had the right to flirt with whomever he liked.

But what had him frozen to the spot, staring at his best friend and the anonymous nurse was the unreasoning and entirely unexpected jealously that was surging through him. All he could think was _How dare she? He's mine!_ And he had no idea where that thought was coming from. And no idea what to do with it now that it was here.

As he stood frozen and riddled with invidious covetousness, Wilson seemed to sense he was there. He looked over at House and his expression, which had been flirtatious and amused, changed suddenly. The flirtatious quality faded and Wilson's whole face warmed and the amused smile became one of fond curiosity. As House continued to watch, Wilson said something to the nurse. Her face fell and she gave Wilson a small, wry smile before patting his arm and walking off. Wilson didn't watch her go; instead he walked over and grinned at House.

"Hey, House. Is it time to go? You promised beer and pizza."

House stared for a moment then gathered himself, burying the jealously, burying the vague, possibly important thoughts he'd _had_ about that jealously, burying everything.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah. Let's go."


	52. Outsides

**005. Outsides**

Facades

James Wilson was considered to be an exceptionally bright young doctor. He was the Princeton-Plainsboro's wunderkind. The Boy Wonder. Saint Wilson. The youngest Department Head in the hospital. The all-round nice guy. The kind doctor. The caring soul. The only friend to Dr Gregory House much to the bafflement of all and sundry. He wore all of these titles with apparent ease but it was all a façade. And no one knew…except for one.

Dr Gregory House was the Head of Diagnostic Medicine. He was, if you chose to listen to the hospital gossip mill, mean, nasty, sarcastic, acerbic and intolerant of anyone lacking his intelligence. He was crippled, pain-raddled and a drug addict. He rarely shaved, he wore jeans and t-shirts, even leather jackets on occasion, and never wore his lab coat. He didn't look much like a doctor. But it was all a façade. And no one knew…except one.

There was a new nurse in the Oncology Department. She was very pretty and very funny and Wilson hadn't had sex in a long time. His wife had left him three weeks ago and the last time he'd had sex was at least six months before that. The nurse…he was fairly sure her name was Jenny…obviously liked him. He could tell; he'd had a lot of experience. He knew after only a couple of minutes of conversation that if he wanted he could have her in his bed tonight. It wouldn't even be wrong. He was _almost_ a divorced man after all.

As he talked and flirted with her, he felt an odd weight on him and knew someone was watching. He looked up and saw it was House and he smiled. He'd made plans tonight to go over to House's place to drink beer, eat pizza and shoot the breeze. They might even watch the baseball or whatever bizarre movie House had found. The last one they'd watched had been this British movie called 24-Hour Party People. Wilson had had a bit to drink that night and the movie had seemed incomprehensible to him. All he could remember was that it had something to do with the band Joy Division.

He turned back to the pretty nurse. "Looks like my ride's here," he said with a charming smile. "I have to go…Jenny, wasn't it?"

The nurse's face fell then she gave him a wry smile. "Josie, actually but you were pretty close. I guess they were right."

With that strange comment, she patted his arm and walked away. Wilson dismissed her from his thoughts; she _was_ pretty and quite fun to talk to but not what he really wanted.

He walked over and grinned at House. "Hey, House. Is it time to go? You promised beer and pizza."

House seemed to pause for a moment but before Wilson could ask what was wrong, he seemed to collect himself.

"Yeah," House said quietly. "Yeah. Let's go."

Wilson gave his friend a curious look at the tone of voice but then dismissed it. The two men walked down the corridor towards their offices; the Boy Wonder and the mean and nasty Dr House. Two facades. Two souls. Too far apart while so close together.


	53. Hours

**006. Hours**

Counting Down

House counted hours. Not actual minutes, he wasn't that much of an addict, but he did count hours. He was only meant to take a single Vicodin every 4-6 hours. At first he'd tried to do the right thing; he diligently waited the recommended six hours, suffering through increasingly excruciating pain. But he'd found that he was falling into a pattern. A bad pattern. After he'd taken a pill and once it had started taking effect, he'd be fine. Or at least as fine as he was ever going to get now. He'd be able to limp around with the aid of his cane, he could think, he could argue, he could be as close to himself as he possibly could. But as the hours passed he found that the pain increased and his ability to…to function started to _decrease_.

So he started taking one pill every five hours. That worked a little but not quite enough so he reduced the time to every four hours. That was even better. It was still bad as the third hour flicked over and the fourth hour began but he could manage well enough.

Then he went back to work full-time. Cuddy had offered him his own department where he could write his own hours and select his own cases. He'd have to take on Fellowship candidates but he'd be able to pick and choose them. And he'd have to work in the clinic but he was fairly sure he could avoid that.

He knew why she'd offered this. She was feeling guilty. She'd made the suggestion of what he'd found out later was termed the _middle ground_. He called it mutilation, something unwanted but in the end he couldn't blame Cuddy. _Stacy_ was the one who'd made the decision not to tell him of the middle ground and then had made the decision to wait until he was in the chemically-induced coma and she could take over. He could blame Stacy but he couldn't blame Cuddy. _She_ had only done what she was supposed to do…offer options. It was not her place to make decisions for the patients. He'd taken up her offer as much to assuage her guilt as to take up a challenge that actually interested him.

But the hours were having an effect. He had to be on his feet a lot more than during his recovery. Until he got his Fellows, he had to speak to patients, chase up test results, do all of the scut work he thought he'd gotten past. And now he paid a much heavier price. By the end of his first 'normal' day, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to get past the glass door of his brand new office. Wilson had seemed to know this and had appeared almost as though summoned. He'd not said a word, merely stood next to House's desk. As House had hauled himself to his very shaky feet, Wilson had picked up the small orange bottle that was sitting on the desk. Once House had been released from hospital, Wilson had taken over as his doctor, taken over the prescription writing, taken over the role of carer until House could manage on his own. He'd ruined his own marriage at the same time as House was destroying his relationship with Stacy.

House swayed on his feet, his hand clenched around the handle of his cane. He looked over at the one friend who he _hadn't_ managed to drive away and saw the look on his face. He hadn't been able to stick with the four hour gaps today. He'd been down to three hours and he knew that Wilson would be able to do the math regarding the date the bottle had been filled and the number of pills that _should_ be in there. Wilson gave him a long, measured look then held out the bottle. House snatched it out of his hand and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. Wilson took the bag from his hand and they walked out to Wilson's car. Not a word was said about his overuse of the Vicodin.

As the days and weeks passed, House found that he _couldn't_ stick to the 4-6 hours he was supposed to. He needed to be able to think, he needed to be able to function and 4-6 hours wasn't going to cut it. Three hours worked well. Three hours allowed him to do what he needed. Even after he hired Chase then Cameron then Foreman, he still stuck with the three hours. He'd thought he'd be able to cut back once he had help but it hadn't turned out to be the case. If anything, the three young doctors _increased_ his workload. They went looking for cases and found them. They made him work. They made him think. And that meant he needed to take the pills.

He wasn't stupid though. He knew he was addicted to the pills but he was convinced it was manageable. That he could control it. That he could cut back whenever he needed to.

And then had come Cuddy's little bet. He wasn't stupid. He knew it wasn't Cuddy's idea. She might think about it but she still harboured too much guilt to actually suggest something like that. No, House knew where that little bet had come from. _Wilson_. Wilson, who wrote his scripts. Wilson, who knew exactly how much Vicodin he took each week, each day. He'd been angry initially but then the first of the withdrawal symptoms had hit. He'd tried to deny it but…well, he wasn't stupid.

He'd seen the horror and worry that Wilson had tried to hide when he examined House's bruised and broken hand. He'd been absolutely sure of the origin of the bet then but he hadn't said anything. Partly because of pure stubbornness and partly because he didn't really want to admit Wilson was right. Not then anyway, later it had been a different matter. The harsh words that had been said after the whole thing was over was enough damage for that week.

So now he counted the hours again. He tried to stretch the three hours to four hours, even five hours. He didn't often succeed; he'd forgotten how bad the pain could get when he waited that long. But he tried. Because Wilson _was_ his best friend, his only friend and he'd asked him to cut down.


	54. Days

**007. Days**

A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

Two days, seven hours and twenty-four minutes.

Precisely two days, seven hours and twenty-four minutes ago, Gregory House kissed James Wilson.

And precisely two days, seven hours and twenty minutes had passed since Gregory House limped out of James Wilson's office and that was the last time Wilson had seen him.

He tried calling. There was no answer. Not at his office. Not at his home. Not even on his cell phone.

He'd gone over to House's apartment. No answer to the door. He used his key. There was no one home and the bedroom showed signs that someone had packed in a hurry. Wilson had finally wandered back out into main room where he'd found a note propped up against a glass on the coffee table, one that he'd missed on his first pass through the room. The note had his name scrawled on the front. He'd carefully walked over and picked it up, opening it with an unreasoning sense of foreboding.

_Gone away for a few days. Needed to think. So do you._

_I'm sorry,_

GH 

Wilson stared down at the note for several minutes before walking over and picking up the phone.

"Lisa, where's House?…When?…Why not?…When is he supposed to be coming back?…He what?…Yes…Yes…Yes, I will…Thank you…Bye."

Wilson stared down at the note again as he put the phone down and sat down on the couch. He wondered briefly why House had apologised. Was it about the kiss? He snorted; of course it was the kiss. What else had happened between them? But why was House sorry? And what did he need to think about? The kiss? Wilson fervently hoped it wasn't the kiss. He'd been surprised when House had leaned in and claimed his lips so fervently and so passionately in the middle of the argument they'd been having but he certainly wasn't upset.

He'd certainly kissed back after getting over his shock so he wasn't sure why House would be sorry about the kiss. He sighed and leaned back on the couch. Of course House would be sorry. _House_ didn't know that Julie had walked out on him six days ago and that her lawyer had called him only an hour before the kiss had occurred. Which incidentally was why the argument had occurred. He'd been feeling frustrated and angry with himself and when House had turned up in a belligerent mood it hadn't taken much for him to snap, particularly when he hadn't wanted to tell House the reason for his own mood.

House _did_ have a point that he needed to think…that they both needed to think but right now he didn't know what House was thinking. He knew what he was thinking. He wanted another one of those kisses. In fact he wanted more than just kisses. Hell, he'd had two days to come to that conclusion. He'd liked that kiss and he'd gotten more out of it than any kiss from any of his wives. Which was odd really because he'd never thought of himself as being gay…or even bisexual. He'd done a little bit of experimentation at college but while it had been _okay_, it hadn't really been anything that would set the world on fire so he'd just come to the conclusion he was straight and gone on from there. Although _three_ failed marriages would probably cause some people to debate that supposed straight status with him.

It had also just occurred to him that he and House did a lot of what some people might term flirting which probably explained those rumours that periodically ran around the hospital about them…usually around the time they got a new influx of interns and nurses who weren't used to the way he and House interacted. Except what if they really _had_ been flirting? What if _House_ had been flirting with him and he'd sort of been unconsciously flirting back because that's just what he did when someone flirted with him? Well, that's what he did when a woman flirted with him.

He let out a small chuckle. _That_ was probably something he should never tell House…that he was treating him like one of his women. Then again, if House _had_ been flirting with him and he _did_ mean something with that kiss, then maybe he _should_ tell House because he generally had sex with his women.

That did bring something else to mind. His wives had generally turned a blind eye to his philandering…at least for a while. But House wouldn't. If this _was_ what he thought it was then there would be no cheating or there would be no more House. He dropped the note next to him on the couch as he considered that. Could he do it? He'd never been able to before but then he rather supposed he had better motivation now. He didn't want to lose House as his friend no matter what happened. Would that be enough to keep him from wandering? Did he want to take that risk?

Wilson sat in thought for several minutes then nodded to himself. Yes, he did. And he was done thinking. He knew what he wanted. With that decision he felt himself growing tired. He snorted; that was no great surprise. He'd hardly slept the last couple of days, wondering what was going on and where House was. For a moment he contemplated grabbing a nap on the couch then he smirked. No, he was going to use House's bed. He planned on ending up there anyway so why not start now?

With that amusing thought Wilson stood and walked into House's bedroom. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and slipped in between the cool sheets. He buried his face into one of the pillows and breathed in the scent of House. He chuckled at his own actions then settled in more comfortably and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

House shifted his overnight bag into a more comfortable position as he slammed the car door shut. He limped into his apartment building and made his way up to his apartment. A few minutes fumbling with his keys, his cane and the bag had the door open and him inside. He let the bag fall to the floor and made a mental note to deal with it later. He limped further into the room and looked around. The first thing he noticed was the note he'd left for Wilson was now lying on the couch. Well, that told him one thing…Wilson had been here.

He made his way into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge, opening it and downing the contents in three long swallows. He momentarily debated calling Wilson but then tossed that idea out. He was tired, his leg was aching and he really didn't think he had the patience or the desire to deal with what had happened right now.

Not that he regretted kissing Wilson. Or at least he hoped he didn't. Or more accurately he hoped _Wilson_ didn't regret it. Okay, he _really_ hoped Wilson had liked it and wanted more but he'd settle for keeping their friendship intact. He leaned against the bench and tossed the empty bottle towards the trash. He didn't even react when the bottle went in; his thoughts were too full of what had happened.

He'd been in a fairly foul mood. He'd walked in on Cameron and Chase in his office with the blinds closed. The scene he'd walked in on had been pretty tame; they'd only been kissing after all. Nevertheless it had dampened what had been a reasonably good mood very quickly. In fact after he'd had some time to think he wasn't even sure _why_ it had put him in a foul mood. Contrary to popular opinion he didn't like Cameron…at least not in _that_ way. He thought she was a good doctor when she concentrated on what was wrong with the patient and he liked her when she was being a good doctor. But he didn't like her in _that_ way. And he wasn't after Chase either. Chase was certainly pretty but he was also a bit of weakling. His behaviour when Vogler had been at the hospital was proof positive of that. It had taken nearly twenty-four hours to figure out a reason why he'd reacted the way he did to seeing Chase and Cameron kiss and he wasn't even sure if he was right. He'd reacted because he wanted to be kissing someone. Not Chase or Cameron though.

So he'd taken his foul mood out and straight to the cause of it…or part of the cause of it. Which had turned out to be possibly a very bad idea. Because Wilson hadn't been in the best of moods either and instead of reacting to House's snapping with humour or just a curious look and a chiding comment, he'd snapped back. House wasn't exactly sure why Wilson had been in a bad mood but he had a fair idea it probably had something to do with Julie. Wilson only got into _those_ kinds of moods when one of his marriages was in danger of falling apart. So they'd snapped at each other then progressed to yelling then something had _really_ snapped inside House and he'd grabbed Wilson's tie and pulled the younger man towards him.

The kiss had been bliss. Hot, heated and passionate. At least on his side. And just when he'd been about to pull away, Wilson had started kissing back. And that had taken it to a whole new level. Then sanity had returned…at least for him. He was _kissing_ his best friend. His _only_ friend. His _straight_ friend. He'd pulled away with a jerk and quickly limped out of the room. He knew it wouldn't take long for Wilson to recover and he knew he needed to think about what he'd just done. So he'd gone to Cuddy and basically demanded some time off. He had to make a few threats but she'd finally agreed…and he _really_ didn't want to think about how long she was going to hold it over his head.

So he'd driven until nearly midnight then pulled in at the first motel he found. He needed to think and that would do just fine. Unfortunately his two days of thinking hadn't really achieved much. He knew he'd enjoyed that kiss, he knew he wanted more and he knew he didn't want to lose Wilson's friendship. Beyond that he had no further conclusions. It all rested on Wilson and how he'd reacted.

House sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand. He gripped his cane tightly with the other and limped towards his bedroom. He was tired and needed his Vicodin and some sleep. It was a measure of how tired and dispirited he was that it took until he'd pulled off his t-shirt and was sitting down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes and jeans to realise that his bed was in fact occupied. It wasn't difficult to recognise who was tucked underneath his sheets and comforter but he just wasn't sure _why_ Wilson was sleeping in his bed.

He laid a hand on the covered shoulder and gave the sleeping body a small shake. "Wilson?"

The sleeping man made an indistinct noise as he took a deep breath and turned over.

"House?" Wilson said sleepily, blinking in the light. "You're back."

"Obviously," House said in a tone lacking its usual bite. "Why are you here?"

"Was tired," Wilson mumbled.

"You usually sleep on the couch," House observed warily.

"Like it here," Wilson replied. "Come to bed."

House sucked in a sudden sharp breath at that invitation then slowly, almost as if in a daze, he pulled off his shoes, socks and jeans. He paused long enough to pull the small bottle out of his jeans pocket and swallow a pill then he crawled under the sheets. The bed was warm and the moment he got settled, Wilson shifted over and curled around him as thought he was some kind of large teddy bear. He froze for a moment at that then he slowly forced himself to relax and pulled the younger man closer. Wilson made an indistinct pleased sound and snuggled even closer.

"Sleep now, talk later," Wilson mumbled as he drifted into sleep again.

"Yeah," House said, feeling oddly unsure.

He thought he'd lie there awake but in fairly short order, sleep had claimed him as well.

* * *

When House woke he felt warm, well rested and decidedly comfortable. This confused him at first since he could count the number of times the latter two had happened since the infarction on one hand. Then he remember everything that had happened in the last few days and in particular what had happened before he'd gone to sleep and he opened his eyes.

"Morning," Wilson said and House looked over to find his friend lying on his side, head propped up on one hand. The bedside light was still on and illuminating the room.

"Is it?" House asked carefully.

Wilson chuckled. "Just. It's nearly one in the morning."

"Ah," House said. "You're in my bed."

"Yes," Wilson replied then he looked a little worried. "Is that…okay?"

"Yeah," House said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Wilson grinned warmly then paused for a moment before leaning over and kissing House. He broke away before things could get involved.

"You're not going to run away again, are you?" he said with a half-smile.

House swallowed hard before answering. "Uh, no. Besides technically I _didn't_ run away, I just limped really fast."

"Semantics," Wilson said with amusement.

"I love semantics," House replied.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I _know_." He paused and eyed House with warm amusement. "Wish you'd stayed though."

"Really? I thought my note was pretty accurate," House replied.

Wilson thought about that for a moment. "Hmm, you might have a point. I did think a bit."

"And your conclusions?" House asked.

Wilson snorted. "I'm here…in your bed and I just kissed you. What do you think they were?"

House blinked. "What about Julie?"

"She left me six days ago," Wilson replied.

"Ah, hence the mood the other day," House said with understanding. "I thought it was due to wife problems. Didn't think she'd left though. Thought you were trying to work things out."

"I wasn't successful," Wilson said dryly. "Though I'm not sure how convincing I was in the first place."

"Oh?" House said, raising an eyebrow.

Wilson gave an odd half-shrug. "I don't think I could ever deliver what she wanted. You know, be the kind of husband she wanted." He gave House an intent look. "So…we know why _I_ was in a bad mood that day. Why were _you_ in a bad mood? And why did you kiss me?"

House shifted uncomfortably, wincing as his leg complained. "I walked in on Chase and Cameron examining each other's tonsils."

Wilson blinked then comprehension dawned and he frowned. "I thought you didn't like Cameron?"

"I don't," House said wearily.

Wilson smirked. "Is it Chase then?"

House scowled. "It's neither of them."

"Ah yes, that's right…you kissed _me_," Wilson said, his smirking widening.

"Yes."

"You…kissed me because you saw Chase kissing Cameron?" Wilson said, looking both amused and curious.

"Yes."

Wilson considered that for a moment. "Hmm, guess I should be nice to those two next time I see them."

"What?" House said incredulously.

"I _liked_ that kiss," Wilson said with a heated grin. "I want more kisses. I want…well, I want _more_."

House looked blank. "You do?"

Wilson shifted over until he was plastered against the side of House. "Oh, yeah," he said in low voice as he bucked his hips fractionally.

House sucked in a breath. "Are you sure you know what you want?"

Wilson gave another one of those odd shrugs. "I messed around a little in college. Didn't seem that exciting. That kiss has made me rethink a few things." He grinned again. "Want to convince me I was wrong?"

House closed his eyes momentarily. "Love to," he said hoarsely.

He wrapped one arm around Wilson and pulled so that he was half on top of his body, studiously ignoring the way Wilson made sure that neither of them bumped his bad leg. He snaked his other hand up into Wilson's hair then pulled him down into a hard, desperate kiss. Wilson moaned into the kiss and ground his erection into House's hip. House's hand immediately slipped down from Wilson's waist to his arse, gripping hard and pulling to gain the friction he wanted on his own hardening cock. Wilson moaned again and ripped his mouth away.

"God…I must have been…doing this wrong in college," he gasped.

"You were…young and…stupid," House agreed as he kissed his way along Wilson's jaw.

Wilson gave a breathless laugh that turned into a whimper as House gently bit his earlobe then swirled his tongue around it. The whimper then turned into a needy whine as House moved his other hand down to Wilson's hips and gripped hard, grinding their bodies together mercilessly. Wilson let House drive the pace as he all but smashed their mouths together. There was no finesse involved; it was all tongues and teeth and hot, wet need interspersed with gasping breaths and muttered curses and entreaties until House tore his mouth away and bit out a savage, desperate "Jimmy!" as he came. The tone of House's voice and the bruising tightening of the hands on his hips sent Wilson over the edge with a wordless cry. He slumped where he was, half on top of House, and let his forehead rest on House's shoulder.

"_Definitely_ did that wrong in college," he said fervently when he felt able to speak again.

House snorted. "Of course you did, it wasn't with me," he said, his voice lazy and content as he wrapped one arm around Wilson and let the other hand drifted up and down his back.

"That was an observation, not a boost to your already capacious ego," Wilson said with amused exasperation.

"Hey, you're the one who said it. I can take it however I like," House replied.

Wilson was about to answer back when House shifted slightly underneath him and drew in a sharp breath. Wilson reached for the bottle sitting on the bedside table and slid off his lover. He opened the bottle and shook out a pill, offering it to House silently. House took it and swallowed it then he snatched the bottle back and placing it on the table. He then hesitated for a moment before curling up around his lover and resting his right leg on top of Wilson's legs.

Wilson pulled him close and sighed. "We should clean up," he murmured.

"Need to wait," House muttered, his face buried in Wilson's neck.

"I know," Wilson replied. "That's what I meant."

"No smart comments then?"

Wilson was silent for a moment. "I think taking one then was justified but I'm not going to say any more because I don't want to get into an argument with you right now. Right now I want to bask in smug satisfaction for a while then I want to clean up. After that, it's a whole new ball game."

"I didn't know sex was done to a timetable," House said, amusement lacing his voice. "And how easy will it be to distract you when the new ball game starts?"

"Don't know," Wilson said, ignoring the first comment. "You'll have to find out."

"I love a challenge," House said.

"Yes, you do," Wilson replied with relish.

House pulled himself up enough to look Wilson in the face, smirking at the smug expression he found.

"Finish your basking," he said as he carefully rolled over and sat up. "I want to take up that challenge."

With that House grabbed his cane and started limping towards the bathroom. Wilson watched him for a moment then with a grin, he crawled out of bed and followed.


	55. Weeks

**008. Weeks**

Slow Discoveries

House and Wilson had been sleeping together for nearly six weeks before Wilson mentioned the word 'relationship'. House had actually cringed when he said that word and quickly limped out of Wilson's office. Wilson had not seen him for the rest of the day. He'd finally appeared in the doorway at the end of the day and with forced casualness asked whether Wilson was ready to leave. When Wilson said he was, House had nodded and they had left. The word 'relationship' had never come up again.

House and Wilson had been sleeping together for nearly nine weeks when Wilson first referred to House as his partner. It had occurred one evening during a somewhat heated phone conversation with Julie regarding the divorce. It hadn't been planned nor did he fully realise what he'd said. He'd merely wanted to express to Julie what House meant to him without using the one word that House always, _always_ flinched and ran from. When he'd finally managed to get off the phone he'd found House staring at him with an unreadable expression though his eyes were full of varying emotions. Wilson had not asked what he'd done; he merely mentally reviewed his conversation with Julie to try and determine what might have brought _those_ emotions to the fore. He'd concluded that it was the word 'partner' since the rest of the conversation had mostly been about the house and various other sundry matters pertaining to the divorce. Wilson certainly didn't regret calling House his partner and while House was certainly unsettled by it, he wasn't openly complaining. Wilson chose to take that as a good sign.

House and Wilson had been sleeping together for nearly thirteen weeks when House's team found out about them. In retrospect Wilson was surprised it had taken that long for them to find out. While he and House had been relatively discreet about the whole thing, they hadn't exactly been _hiding_ it either. Though he supposed that if they _hadn't_ wanted the ducklings to find out, they probably shouldn't have kissed in House's office. The damn place was a fishbowl, far too much glass to be doing things like kissing. Overall the ducklings took it well. Foreman was clearly surprised but after a few minutes he appeared to dismiss it as irrelevant to his life. Wilson felt there was something to be said for House hiring someone who didn't give a damn about much other than his job. Chase also took it reasonably well. He was certainly startled but finally he just shrugged and made the comment that now they had the explanation as to why House had be more bearable over the past few weeks. That had probably been a bad thing to say from the slightly evil look that appeared on House's face and Wilson was momentarily tempted to feel sorry for the three doctors, Chase in particular. It was hard to tell exactly how Cameron took the news. Her initial reaction was one of shock and her voice was brittle when she spoke but gradually she either accepted it or just became more adept at hiding her feelings. However an air of injured pride lingered around her for days. On the whole Wilson was satisfied with their reactions and vaguely pleased that now they knew.

House and Wilson had been sleeping together for nearly fifteen weeks when Cuddy and Stacy found out about them. Unlike with House's team, this discovery was not due to any carelessness one their part. House had been rather grudgingly serving his time in the clinic when the patient he'd been seeing had some kind of fit of rage. Before House had been able to recover from the sudden change in direction of his patient's temperament, the man had grabbed House's cane out of his hand and begun beating him with it, including two very solid blows on the thigh. House's hoarse, startled screams had alerted the nursing staff and security had quickly been called and had subdued the man. One of the nurses had had the presence of mind to call Wilson and he'd arrived at a run to find House curled up on the floor of one of the examination rooms. House was in very obvious pain but was refusing to allow anyone near him. Wilson had been filled with horror, anger and worry but had not allowed any of that to show as he calmly got everyone out of the room and knelt beside his lover. He'd been relieved when it had only taken a few minutes of arguing with House to get him to allow an examination. Wilson had been quick and thorough and had insisted that House stay in hospital overnight. House had been irritated but had eventually…and rather grudgingly…agreed. Wilson had asked one of the nurses to bring a wheelchair and when it arrived he helped House into it. Once he had House settled into a room and everyone else had gone, he finally allowed his worry to show. House had permitted his show of emotion and had slipped into a drug-induced sleep with their fingers entwined. Wilson had then caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Cuddy and Stacy disappearing out of the room. He sighed as he settled into a chair beside the bed. The two women had undoubtedly seen enough to work out that his and House's relationship had changed. He didn't _think_ it would be a problem but hoped that Cuddy would be able to stop anything rash that Stacy might think of doing.

House and Wilson had been sleeping together for nearly twenty weeks when Wilson walked into his office one morning to find a small jewellers box sitting in the middle of his desk. He stared at it for a moment then slowly walked over to the desk. He picked up the box and turned it over in his hands as though there might be some kind of answer in the black velvet. Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he opened it. He stared at the contents for several minutes, his jaw hanging open. Nestled in the box were two plain gold bands. With his expertise he easily identified them a two men's wedding bands. A small noise behind him had him turning and he saw House was standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable and oddly hopeful.

"It won't be legal," House said almost diffidently. "But I thought we could go to Canada."

"When?" Wilson said, feeling stunned and still trying to come to terms with what he held in his hand and what it meant.

House gave a small shrug. "Whenever we can get away."

Wilson nodded slowly. "Why?" he said in what was almost a whisper.

House stared at the floor, at his hands clenched around the handle of his cane, out of the window, at Wilson's immaculate desk, back down at the floor then finally at Wilson.

"Because I…love you," he said, sounding slightly choked.

Wilson's eyes widened and a broad smile broke out on his face. He carefully placed the box containing the rings down on the desk and walked over to stand in front of House. He ran the fingers of one hand along House's cheek then leaned in and kissed his lover. When they broke apart, Wilson smiled again.

"I love you," he said simply. "And yes, I'll marry you…even if it won't be legal here."

House nodded once and he gave a small smile. "Good."


	56. Orange

**012. Orange**

Gone Fishing

Wilson walked into House's office and blinked. "House, your hand is…_orange_!"

House looked up from the journal he'd been reading then gave his hand an interested look as though he'd never seen it before.

"I would have said it was more yellow than orange," he said idly before turning back to the journal.

Wilson stared at him for a moment then walked over and sat down.

"_Why_ is your hand orange…or yellow?" he asked as calmly as he could.

House tossed the journal onto his desk and leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

"Just one of life's mysteries, I suppose."

"Your hand just turned orange overnight?" Wilson said dubiously.

"It was that way when I woke up this morning," House replied rather blandly.

"What did you _do_ last night?" Wilson demanded.

House shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. "Went home, made dinner, watched TV, went to bed."

"Have you…seen someone about it?" Wilson asked, his surprise now turning to concern. "I think Kelso's the best of the dermatologists here."

House frowned. "Why would I do something like that?"

"House! Your hand is _orange_!" Wilson yelped.

"I still say it's more yellow than orange," House observed, holding his hand up and looking at it curiously.

"What does it matter what colour it is?" Wilson demanded. "Your skin has turned a different shade than what it should be. You have some kind of dermatological problem."

"Really?" House said with apparent surprise. "I'm sure it'll go away."

Wilson stared at House in exasperation. "You don't know that. It could be something serious."

House gave him a quizzical look in return. "Well, I'll admit it's a bit unsightly but I don't think you can be seriously hurt by saffron and turmeric, can you?"

Wilson froze for a moment. "_What_?"

"Saffron. Turmeric," House said, a wicked gleam growing in his eyes. "I was cooking a curry last night. Dropped a teaspoon in it and had to go fishing for the damn thing. I forgot the kind of effect saffron and turmeric can have on the skin." He eyed his stained hand again. "Looks a bit garish, doesn't it?"

Wilson stared at House in disbelief for a moment. "Bastard," he breathed, vacillating between relief and the desire to throw something very solid at House's head.

"I've always thought I was more of a jerk really," House mused. "Mostly because I'm fairly sure my parents were married before I was born."

"You know I'm going to get you for this?" Wilson said fervently.

House grinned. "Bring it on, Jimmy."


	57. Yellow

**013. Yellow**

Culprit

House limped into his office and came to a sudden stop, staring at the object on his desk. He looked around towards the conference room but it was remarkably empty at the moment. That fact didn't assuage his feelings of suspicion, it only increased them. It made him think that his ducklings had already been in this morning, seen what was on his desk and scattered to distant parts of the hospital as quickly as possible so as not to be here, and therefore be obvious cannon fodder, when he arrived. If they were actually _responsible_ for the object on his desk they'd be sitting in the conference room, trying to look casual while surreptitiously watching for his reaction.

So that ruled out the ducklings…

He briefly considered Cuddy but threw the idea out almost instantly. For one, they really didn't have that kind of relationship, had _never_ had that kind of relationship. Cuddy was the boss, he worked for her. He fought her, annoyed her and on occasion he actually managed to impress her…something which she always denied and which her teased her incessantly about. No, _Cuddy_ would not have put that object on his desk.

So not the ducklings and not Cuddy…

Now _Stacy_…there was a candidate. Or she might have been at one time. Before. Before the infarction, before the surgery, before she left and before she married Mark. They'd often done stupid, amusing things like this before. Playing games. His eyes narrowed and his shook his head. No, not Stacy. Not now. The object could not have been left by her. They didn't play those sorts of games anymore.

Not the ducklings then, not Cuddy and not Stacy…which only left one culprit.

"Do you like it?"

The warm, amused voice from behind startled him and he gave a quick glance over his shoulder to find his vote for the culprit standing in the doorway.

"What _is_ it?" House asked incredulously as he turned to look at the thing on his desk again.

Much to his surprise, Wilson walked up to him and stood directly behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Wilson said into his ear, the warm amusement sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

"Why is it on my desk?"

He heard a low chuckle then gasped when Wilson bit his earlobe gently.

"For the sheer amusement value of watching you walk in and see it."

"You were out on the balcony?"

"For most of it," Wilson confirmed, his arm tightening slightly around House's waist. "But you were thinking too hard about it so I thought I'd come in and stop that."

"But…why did you buy it?"

Another chuckle echoed warmly through House's ear.

"Remember what we talked about the other night?" Wilson said. "About how I should be more spontaneous and we should have more fun? Well, consider this a step in the right direction."

House turned his head so that he could see Wilson's face.

"A _rubber ducky_?" he said incredulously.

The warmth in Wilson's face and eyes changed into something dark and heated and his voice was low when he said, "Baths can be fun."


	58. Green

**014. Green**

I Wore It For You

House leaned on the balustrade of the balcony he shared with Wilson and stared out into the distance. His cane was propped up against the wall next to him and a half-empty coffee cup sat on his other side. He was brooding and he knew it but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Wilson had turned up in his office this morning wearing that damn green tie and he'd been surprised and startled by the wave of jealously that had washed through him. He hadn't particularly wanted to think about why he'd felt _those_ things so he'd reacted by being particularly sardonic. But Wilson hadn't reacted; he'd simply smiled and responded with warm banter before leaving for his own office.

Wilson had returned several times during the day, always with those warm smiles and amused looks. And always with the calm banter to counter House's increasingly bitter sarcasm. Wilson's last appearance had been about mid-afternoon and once he'd finally left, his eyes gleaming with tolerant amusement, House had descended in bitter brooding. He briefly wondered who Wilson was wearing the green tie for before dismissing that thought with a savage shake of his head. Wilson could wear the green tie for whomever he liked; his divorce had become final a week ago.

Throughout the day House had rigorously avoided thinking about that initial reaction of his to Wilson's green tie. His bisexuality wasn't much of an issue to him but he'd never told Wilson. There had been no need. Wilson had been married…three times and he'd been with Stacy then the infarction had occurred and well…it just never seemed like something to worry about. But one thing he _had_ done before everything had fallen apart was to acknowledge his attraction to the other man. He hadn't done anything more than that; he'd been happy with Stacy after all. He'd loved her. But no one would deny that Wilson was very handsome in that boyish way of his.

"You planning on staying out here all night?"

House gave a start at the sound of Wilson's voice but steadfastly did not turn.

"What are you doing here?" he said brusquely.

"Am I supposed to be somewhere else?" Wilson said with amusement as he moved over to lean on the balustrade next to House.

"I presumed you'd be with whoever you're wearing that green tie for," House snapped.

Wilson was silent for a long moment and when House snuck a look, the younger man looked thoughtful.

"Who says I'm not?" Wilson said quietly.

House frowned, unsure of what to make of Wilson's reply.

"Where's your team?" Wilson asked before he could decide what to say.

"Sent them home," House replied, sounding distracted. "The patient's stable, nothing any of us can do now except wait."

"Good," Wilson said. "You think I wear this tie to look…pretty? To impress someone?"

House scowled. "It's the only damn tie you own that Julie or one of your other wives didn't buy you. You let them have the house but for some reason you keep the ties."

Wilson chuckled. "Well…I suppose you have a point…with everything. I guess I do wear it to impress someone."

"Debbie from Accounting," House spat out. "Or that little nurse in Oncology. What her name? Alice or Amy or something."

Wilson was silent again then he sighed. "Dammit House, you're not usually this obtuse. I'm wearing the damn tie for you. I suppose it's not really to impress you so much as the fact you noticed that it's a tie I bought for myself."

House's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he demanded.

Wilson sighed and let his head drop slightly. "I haven't really done this well, have I?"

"I can't really comment on that since I don't know what the hell it is you're trying to do," House replied.

"Oh, what the hell," Wilson muttered. "I'm trying to do this."

Wilson reached over with one hand and turned House's face towards his own before leaning in and kissing him.

House froze, unable to countenance what was happening and almost sure he must have fallen asleep in the chair in his office and was dreaming. Except that was Wilson's hand so warmly cupping his cheek and Wilson's lips pressed against his own and never in any of his dreams had it all happened so surprisingly, so unexpectedly, with _Wilson_ being the one to take the lead. As his thoughts ran around in his head in a jumble he felt Wilson start to pull back, probably disappointed and maybe even embarrassed by his lack of response. And he knew he couldn't let that happen. Because if Wilson were to pull back now, he would probably never try this again and House didn't want this to end.

House turned towards Wilson, ignoring the spike of pain that lanced up from his leg at his sudden and slightly injudicious movement. He grabbed Wilson's hips and pulled the younger man close, taking control of the kiss and demanding entrance to Wilson's mouth. That permission was given eagerly and his sudden plundering of Wilson's mouth was greeted with a moan that reverberated through them both. The hand that had been on his cheek slid around and buried itself in his hair while Wilson's other hand grabbed at his shirt almost convulsively.

House wrapped his arms around Wilson fervently, possessively, trusting the other man to keep them upright. He ripped his mouth away from Wilson's, revelling in the desperate mewling sound that action garnered. He ran a line of biting kisses and soothing licks along Wilson's jawline until he reached the delicate skin near his ear. As he kissed and bit at that skin, he heard Wilson moan.

"God," Wilson said breathlessly.

House smirked then said in a low, hoarse voice directly into Wilson's ear, "You called?"

The comment broke the intense air around the two men and Wilson laughed before pulling House's head around so that he could kiss him. This kiss was calmer and less urgent and when it ended House let his forehead rest gently against Wilson's.

"I like your tie," he said after a few moments of regaining his breath.

"I wore it for you," Wilson replied.

House returned the smile. "Come home," he said simply. "Get out of that stupid hotel you insisted on staying at and come home."

Wilson smiled. "Gladly."


	59. Purple

**016. Purple**

Fall

The purple-blue-black of the bruise showed up prominently on House's right cheek and eye as he limped heavily through the Diagnostic Medicine conference room towards his office. Cameron was the first to catch sight of it and she half-stood, her eyes wide, a startled "Dr House?" on her lips but House steadfastly ignored her, his face blank and expressionless. Cameron's actions had drawn the attention of Foreman and Chase and they too saw the livid bruise as House headed for his office. Before any of them could react further, their boss had made the sanctity of his office and he firmly and almost ostentatiously locked both doors and drew the blinds. The three young doctors stared after the older man then at each other, their shock and surprise obvious.

"How did he get _that_?" Cameron asked into the deathly silent room.

Before either man could answer her question, they heard the sound of music from House's office, loud and obnoxious. Loud enough to drown out the ringing of a phone or pager and definitely loud enough to drown out the sound of someone knocking on either door.

"Now what do we do?" Chase asked, looking worried and concerned.

A short silence greeted his question then Foreman shrugged reluctantly.

"We look after the patient and hope Cuddy doesn't notice," he said with resignation.

The other two also looked resigned and they hesitantly left the conference room to try and keep things looking like normal, both Chase and Cameron shooting worried looks at the closed off office.

Two hours later they were back in the conference room. They'd had a certain amount of luck. Their patient was stable and looked like he was responding to the treatment that had been started the previous day. And Cuddy was caught up in a meeting that from all reports looked likely to go well into the afternoon. Cameron was the last of the three to arrive and she looked somewhat grim.

"His bike's not here," she announced when she walked into the room. The music was still blaring in the office and the blinds were still firmly closed.

Foreman and Chase looked towards the windows and the fine sunny day outside then looked at each other.

"Maybe he just decided to use the car today," Chase suggested unconvincingly. "Maybe his leg's just bad and he decided to drive rather than ride."

"His car's not here either," Cameron said. "And one of the nurses who was on duty this morning said he arrived in a taxi."

"So he fell off the bike," Foreman said with a shrug, looking like he was relieved to have an answer. "Happens to even the best rider. Guess he's just pissed about it."

Chase was shaking his head during this.

"If he was pissed about falling off the bike and getting hurt he'd be taking it out on us," he said. "He wouldn't be shutting himself up in his office and locking the doors."

"He's got a point there," Cameron added. "Besides it's a bruise. If he'd fallen off the bike, wouldn't there be abrasions and scrapes as well as bruising?"

"Well, yeah okay, probably," Foreman admitted. "But what are _we_ supposed to do about it? If he wants to sulk behind locked doors there's nothing we can do. We don't have keys to his office."

"Dr Wilson does," Chase said.

"Dr Wilson isn't in," Cameron said, having saved her most explosive news for last. "He called in sick this morning."

Chase and Foreman gave her long looks then transferred those looks to the office.

"Isn't Dr Wilson staying with House at the moment?" Chase ventured tentatively.

"Yeah, he's letting his wife stay in their house until the divorce is finalised," Foreman replied speculatively.

"Okay," Chase said slowly. "So…Dr Wilson's _sick_ and House is pissed, sulking and has that massive bruise. Did they…get into a _fight_ last night?"

"A fight with someone else or a fight with each other?" Foreman said cynically.

"Do _you_ want to be the one to ask?" Chase said with a shake of his head. "I know House has clinic hours today. I'm going down to do them. Otherwise Cuddy's going to come up here and find out what's going on and I don't want to be anywhere _near_ here if that happens."

"Chicken," Foreman said derisively.

"No, good survival instincts," Chase replied firmly. "You can stay here if you like. Might be interesting to see what you look like with your skin flayed off. He's gotta come out to eat or drink or pee at some point. You _really_ want to be sitting here when does that if he's sulking and pissed off?"

Foreman's eyes widened slightly and he quickly got to his feet.

"Good point," he said. "I might wander over to Neurology, see what's going on over there."

"I'm going to keep an eye on our patient," Cameron said.

The three doctors shot one last look at their boss' office then high-tailed it out of the conference room with as much dignity as they could manage.

Inside the office House was lying on the floor behind his desk, letting the music wash over him. His face was throbbing in a counterpoint to his leg and he felt like crap. He had no doubts that all sorts of speculation was going on out in the other room but he was in no mood to find out what that speculation was and he just hoped that his team would have the sense to stay away. Because he was also in no mood to deal with them and that was the main reason he'd locked the door. He wasn't sure how long he'd have his haven to himself. Eventually Cuddy was going to find out he'd locked himself up in here and she had access to a set of keys.

He shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and wished he'd just called in sick this morning. He'd almost done that but eventually had decided to come in because he wasn't entirely sure how his patient was going to respond to the treatment he'd ordered and he wanted to be here if things started going wrong.

He'd already made the decision that if his patient was still stable after lunch he was going home. He'd had hardly any sleep last night and between that, his leg and his face he just wanted to curl up in his bed and stay there for a while.

He was also worried about Wilson. The younger doctor had complained of feeling unwell when they'd gotten home the previous day and had gone to have a shower. When the shower had still been running half an hour later, House had been worried enough to go and find out what was going on. He limped into the bathroom to find Wilson huddled on the floor of the shower. He'd pulled the door of the shower stall open and laid a hand on Wilson's shoulder to determine what was wrong and in the process he'd badly startled the sick man. Wilson's eyes had been unfocused and he'd lashed out in his surprise. House had instinctively reared backwards and had slipped on the wet floor, his head smacking into the wall, badly enough to bruise but thankfully not hard enough to worry about concussion.

Wilson had come back to himself almost immediately and had been horrified at what had happened. But by the time they had sorted themselves out and gotten the shower turned off, both of them dried off and changed into dry clothing, a spectacular bruise had bloomed on House's face and Wilson was all but passed out on House's bed. House had gotten Wilson settled more comfortably then gone out to get what he'd need to treat the cold Wilson had decided to bring home. It was the pharmacist who'd pointed out how impressive the bruise was and it was also while he was at the pharmacy that House had realised that he'd jarred his leg as well as hitting his head. By the time he'd gotten back to his apartment, he was hurting quite badly. He'd gotten the medications into Wilson then swallowed two Vicodin before collapsing in his armchair. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in the same bed as someone else with his leg in this state and in fact he'd be lucky to get any sleep at all, no matter where he was.

He'd gotten about an hour's fitful sleep and when he'd finally given up at about five o'clock in the morning he gone into the bathroom to find the bruise had matured into something truly astounding. Wilson had been apologetic and horrified when he'd woken the younger man up to take his medication, drink some water and call in sick. House had waved that off and promised to extract revenge at some later point. Wilson had been sick enough to just grunt at that threat before falling asleep again. House had given his friend a sour look before going to have a shower and get dressed. By the time he was ready to head into the hospital, he felt too tired, sore and after taking two Vicodin, far too drugged to drive and had called a taxi. He been distinctly displeased to find his team had already been in and had moved fast to get into his office before they could react. He just wanted to hide from everything at the moment. He had his pager with him; if they really needed him there were ways of getting his attention.

As he lay there and thought that, his pager went off where it was sitting on his stomach. He picked it up and eyed it with a displeasure that softened into wry amusement when he saw the number. He slowly sat up then hauled himself to his feet, collapsing into his chair with a grunt. He stabbed at the stereo and turned it off before picking up the phone and calling his home.

"It's me," he said shortly when Wilson picked up. "Yeah, I'm fine…I'm _fine_…" He sighed irritably. "It hurts alright…Yeah, that hurts too…Dunno, haven't spoke to them…Stayed in my office…Locked the door…Cuddy? Who knows? Who cares?…Soon. I want to check on my patient then I'll come home…Did you take your medicine?…Be thankful I got you anything. You made me hit my head…I can think of ways you can apologise to me…Yeah, actually I would take advantage of a sick man…Go back to bed. I'll be home soon."

With that House hung up the phone and checked his watch. It was just after noon and he decided it was definitely time for him to get the hell out of there. He used his cane to lever himself to his feet, wincing as his face and leg decided to abandon the counterpoint and start throbbing in unison. He looked at his watch again and grimaced. It was far too early for even him to be comfortable with taking more Vicodin. He grabbed his bag and his keys and headed for the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. That action startled his team; the three doctors were sitting around the table eating their lunch and they looked at him with a trepidation that made him smirk.

"Is our patient dying?" he snapped, enjoying how that made them jump again.

"Uh, no, he's doing well," Foreman said warily.

"Not likely to die in the near future? This afternoon, tonight, three o'clock tomorrow morning?" House snapped again.

"No, he's…looking good," Foreman said again.

"Good. I'm going home," House announced as he headed for the door.

"Dr House? Are you alright?" Cameron asked hesitantly.

"Just peachy," he called over his shoulder. "If Cuddy asks where I am, tell her I'm at home having wild sex with Wilson."

Three jaws dropped at that statement and the stunned silence it produced was enough to enable House to get out of the room and a decent distance down the corridor. He stabbed at the elevator button with his cane and breathed a sigh of relief when the lift came immediately. He hobbled in and punched the button for the ground floor, watching the doors close before leaning against the wall. He smirked at the expressions his last statement had produced from his team and made a mental bet that when he next came in there'd be rumours about he and Wilson and probably something to do with some kind of weird bondage-style sex doing the rounds of the hospital rumour mill. He snickered as he pictured the expression on Wilson's face; something that more than made up for the farce last night had turned into.

Well, he'd told Wilson he'd get his revenge…


	60. Brown

**017. Brown**

The Ring

House stared at the door to the storage compartment with a mixed expression on his face. He limped slowly over and pulled out a single key, unlocking the door and shoving the key back into his pocket. He pushed the door open and stood in the threshold, wondering if he really wanted to do this. Inside the darkened storage room lay his life…or at least his life before the infarction. Before she had moved out and left him, Stacy had made one last kind gesture and had everything that might have reminded him of what he'd lost moved to this storage place. His rowing scull, his golf clubs, his tennis gear, his lacrosse equipment, his running gear, his skis, _everything_. She left the key with a note on his piano for him to find when he'd finally returned home.

He'd added some things over the years; he remembered spending three days almost tearing his apartment to pieces after the infarction. Stacy had stored away the more obvious reminders of what he'd lost. What he'd done was remove all of the more subtle ones. He'd packed away travel books, photos, trophies, certificates; anything that might remind him of his former life and of Stacy.

But here he was now, standing in front of his past and about to venture inside. Because he wanted something that he was fairly sure lay inside this room. He was looking for a ring; a plain gold band that had belonged to his grandfather. He'd inherited it when the old man had died, along with a welter of books. And he was sure that he'd thrown it along with a number of other things into a box on that third frenetic day of packing before he'd been stopped by Wilson. By that stage he'd been almost hysterical, careering around the apartment on the crutches he'd still been using and almost sobbing with pain. He'd hardly been in a state to notice what he was doing.

But he wanted that ring now. He wanted that ring so that he could give it to Wilson. Three months ago, shortly after his divorce from Julie, Wilson had turned up in his office at the end of the day and without a word had closed the blinds and locked the doors. He'd then stalked over to where House had been slouched in his chair in the corner and in one very smooth and swift moved kissed him. Claimed him might be a better way of putting it and House hadn't minded being claimed. And somehow in the past three months they'd gone from friends to lovers and House wasn't complaining one bit. Well, actually he was complaining a lot but he didn't mean it and Wilson knew it.

Lately however Wilson had been looking a little uncertain and House had finally managed to lever the truth out of him the previous day. _Wilson_ knew what he wanted; he wanted House, now, forever, for the rest of their lives. But he was uncertain of what House wanted and House had been unable to summon up the words. In truth he didn't know whether he'd _ever_ be able to put it in words.

Hence the reason he was standing in the doorway of this dark storage room. He might not be able to put it in words but he was fairly sure Wilson would be able to get the gist of the message if he presented him with his grandfather's ring.

House sighed and flicked the light switch, squinting in the sudden brightness. He flinched a little as his gaze ran over all of the things he could no longer use. He knew he should probably sell them or give them to Goodwill but some part of him couldn't let go of all of these things. Couldn't let go of his past. He saw what he was looking for in the far corner of the room. A jumble of boxes that had been almost tossed in there then left where they landed. He limped over to the boxes and slowly, laboriously lowered himself to the ground. He placed his cane on the floor where it lay half in, half out of the beam of light creeping in through the gap at the bottom of the large roller door at this end of the storage room. He pulled the first of the boxes towards him and started rummaging through it.

Half an hour and four boxes later he found what he was looking for. The box was probably that last one he'd filled that day and he could see the small jeweller's box lying about halfway down in the stuff that had been tossed haphazardly inside. He reached in and shoved his hand through the junk, not having the patience to pull everything out. As he closed his hand around the jeweller's box, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in the back of his hand. He let out an oath and pulled his hand and the box out. On the back of his hand were three long but shallow gashes that were welling blood as he watched. He swore again and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his hand as best as he could. He then peered into the box and saw blood on what looked like shards of a mirror. He grimaced briefly; it probably _was_ a mirror. He vaguely remembered throwing at least one into the box and laughing hysterically at the sound it made as it shattered.

House shoved the box back towards the others then tucked the jeweller's box into his jacket pocket. He grabbed his cane and hauled himself to his feet again with a grunt of pain. He limped towards the door through which he had entered, not looking back once, and locked it firmly behind him.

He had just arrived back at the hospital when his head started to throb. He scowled as he parked his car and climbed out. When he stood, the headache was joined by a bout of nausea and he started to feel rather weak. He swallowed hard against the nausea and determinedly limped into the hospital. If he was going to collapse he was going to do so in his own office and not in a public car park. However by the time he got to his office, he wasn't sure he cared anymore. The headache, nausea and weakness had been joined by double vision, shortness of breath and what he was sure was photophobia.

He staggered into his office and collapsed into his armchair, letting his cane fall to the floor with a clatter as he threw one arm over his face. He didn't hear the door to the conference room open and Cameron come in. He only knew she was there when she crouched down beside him and briefly touched his arm.

"Dr House? Are you alright?" she asked carefully.

"No," he grunted as his stomach roiled. "Get Wilson."

Cameron hesitated for a moment then stood and hurried out of the office. She was back in a couple of minutes with Wilson and he crouched down beside the armchair where Cameron had been.

"House, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

House was silent for a moment as he battled the urge to vomit.

"Headache, nausea, feel weak," he said shortly.

"Anything else?" Wilson prompted as Cameron hovered behind him and Foreman and Chase came to the door from the conference room.

House lowered his arm and squinted at his lover.

"There's two of you…lucky me," he grunted. "Was having a bit of trouble breathing there for a while and the light's are too bright." He paused momentarily. "And I have a nasty suspicion I'm going to throw up at any moment."

"When did this start?" Wilson asked, looking worried.

"Just now," House replied, swallowing hard again. "Definitely going to throw up soon. Are you wearing those French shoes?"

"Get a basin," Wilson barked at Cameron then he looked over at Chase and Foreman. "And turn off the lights and draw the blinds."

The three young doctors leapt into action and in short order the room was dark and closed off and a basin had been placed on the floor next to Wilson. House's team were now standing next to the desk and Wilson looked over at them.

"Wait outside please," he said firmly. "I'll call for you if I need you."

They hesitated for a moment then reluctantly trooped out into the conference room.

"Thanks," House whispered. "Going to offer those French shoes or do I have to use that basin?"

Wilson grabbed for the basin and held while House vomited. The older man collapsed back into the chair once he was finished and lay there. Wilson placed the basin to one side and gave House a small shake.

"Have you been feeling sick lately?" he asked urgently. "And where have you just been?"

"Been feeling fine," House replied weakly. "I went to the storage place. Had to get something."

"What?" Wilson asked curiously. He couldn't remember the last time House had ventured out there nor did he think there was anything in that place that might cause House to get sick so quickly.

House fumbled at his pocket until Wilson batted his hand aside and reached in inside.

"'S for you," House said listlessly, his eyes closing again.

Wilson stared at the jeweller's box he'd pulled out of House's pocket then shoved it into his own. He could deal with whatever it was later, right now he had something more important to take care of.

"Did you have anything to eat or drink this morning?" he asked.

"Jus' breakfast," House replied, his voice almost a slur. "You saw tha'."

"Nothing else?" Wilson pressed.

"Coffee…here," House replied.

Wilson dismissed the coffee and what House had eaten for breakfast. He'd had the same thing for breakfast and House's team had been drinking the coffee. He saw the handkerchief wrapped around House's hand and frowned, wondering how he'd missed that.

"What did you do to your hand?" he asked sharply.

"Cut it on a broken mirror," House replied. "'S not too bad."

Wilson gently unwrapped the handkerchief and eyed the cuts. House was right. They weren't too deep, more scrapes than cuts. He almost considered tetanus except every doctor in the hospital kept up their tetanus shots up to date and he knew House was no exception.

"I'm going to have you admitted," he said quietly. At House's grimace his voice firmed, "No, don't argue. You're _sick_, Greg. And I don't know what's wrong. You need to be admitted in case this gets worse and I'm going to let your team know what's going on. I think they're going to be the best people to solve this."

House was silent for a moment then he winced as another wave of nausea rolled over him.

"Fine," he whispered. "Just you and them. No one else."

Wilson nodded then stood and went next door into the conference room. He told the three doctors what was wrong and things started to get rolling. In fairly short order they had House in a private room and, after a short discussion, Foreman took a history. He was actually a little surprised that House was so open about answering his questions given his usual habit of evading personal questions with sarcasm and pithy comments until he saw Wilson was holding House's hand and giving it a warning squeeze every time House hesitated. He, Chase and Cameron had speculated for the last several weeks that something was going on between Wilson and House and now, in the worst possible circumstances, he had his confirmation. Once he'd finished the history Foreman left the room heading for the conference room and his colleagues while making a mental note to ride House about that once he was better.

Once he got to the conference room he wrote House's symptoms up on the board and they started on oddly diminished round of wheel of diagnostics.

"From the sudden onset and the symptoms I'd say he was poisoned by something," Chase said with a frown.

"Yeah but what?" Foreman asked. "The only place he's been other than home, his car and here is that storage place."

"A spider?" Cameron suggested.

"He doesn't remember getting bitten by anything," Foreman replied. "And there were no signs of bites on his hands."

"Could he have been bitten somewhere else?" Chase asked.

"Dr Wilson was going to check but it's not very likely," Foreman said. "He was sticking his hands into boxes so if anything was going to bite him that would be the location."

"It can't be the coffee because we all had some this morning," Cameron mused, thinking out loud. "What about what he ate for breakfast?"

"Dr Wilson had the same thing and _he's_ not sick," Foreman said, shooting that idea down.

"He was in his office all morning before going out," Chase added then he shook his head. "It _has_ to be something at the storage place. It's the only unusual place he's been."

Foreman's lips quirked for a brief moment. "I'll go and take a look. There's a certain amount of poetic justice in breaking into someplace that belongs to House."

"I'm sure he has a key," Cameron chided.

"Hey, he never lets us get a key when he makes us break into patient's homes," Foreman said with very unconvincing innocence. "Why change that now?"

"I'll come with you," Cameron said with a mix of resignation and curiousity. "Didn't you once say you should always have a white chick with you when you break into someone's house?"

"It's not a house," Chase said with a roll of his eyes. "And how come I get left behind on this one?"

"Because you're the intensivist," Foreman replied. "He's more likely to need your help than ours. Besides someone has to wait for the test results."

"Fine," Chase said, crossing his arms. "Just hurry up."

Foreman and Cameron exchanged amused looks and hurried out of the room. Chase leaned back in his chair and grumbled under his breath as he watched them go.

* * *

Cameron grinned at Foreman as she unlocked the door to House's storage space and pushed the door open. Foreman shook his head at her with a disgruntled expression though amusement lingered underneath.

"Can't believe he fell for that," Foreman muttered.

"He's nineteen and…awkward," Cameron replied, still grinning.

They'd left the hospital only to realise that they didn't know where they were supposed to be going. A call to Chase had gotten the name of the place and a message to be careful from Dr Wilson. They were both smart enough to know the multiple meanings in that last admonition.

"Hope his boss doesn't find out that you seduced the key out of him," Foreman replied as he reached around Cameron to turn on the light.

"I didn't seduce him," she said indignantly. "I just…_cajoled_ him."

"Whatever," Foreman replied with a teasing grin.

They walked into the storage area and looked around with surprise and dawning realisation at the plethora of sporting equipment.

"Why didn't he throw it away?" Cameron asked quietly.

Foreman shrugged, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I didn't even know he'd played this many sports. _Damn_! No wonder he's so bitter."

"He lost so much," Cameron replied soberly.

They stared at the contents for several more minutes before Foreman gave himself a shake.

"Come on," he said abruptly. "We're supposed to be looking for a spider."

Cameron nodded and the two of them began to search the area, giving occasional glances to the stored past of their boss.

* * *

Chase stared down at the test results and frowned. Everything was pointing towards some kind of poisoning but they just couldn't identify what _kind_ of poisoning and House was steadily getting worse. He'd had bouts of tachycardia, his gums were bleeding, his breathing difficulties had worsened and there were signs of cyanosis. And fifteen minutes ago he'd had a small seizure.

He tossed the results down on the table in the conference room and started pacing, occasionally stopping to stare at the symptoms written on the whiteboard. Suddenly his pager went off and after a quick look, he took off for House's room. He came to find Wilson and a couple of nurses performing CPR.

"Get a crash cart!" Wilson yelled.

Chase turned and was nearly run over by another nurse bringing in a defibrillator. The next several minutes were filled with frantic activity and at the end of it House was alive but they'd made a decision to put him on a respirator and shift him to the ICU

"What happened?" Chase said once things had calmed down and House had been moved.

"Nose bleed," Wilson said shortly. "Then he started having difficulty breathing, said he couldn't actually draw breath. Then he went into cardiac arrest."

Something in this recitation along with the previous symptoms tweaked at something in Chase's mind and he frowned.

"He couldn't draw breath?" he asked intently.

"Yes," Wilson replied. "I saw it, his chest wasn't moving."

"Diaphragmatic paralysis," Chase said as enlightenment dawned. "He _has_ been poisoned."

"By what?" Wilson demanded. "And how do you know?"

"I think he's been bitten by a Brown snake," Chase said. "The symptoms all fit. What I don't know is how he managed to do that. Brown snakes are native to Australia. They're generally not found in New Jersey."

Chase walked over to the phone and dialled Foreman's cell phone.

"Foreman, it's Chase," he said sharply. "You're not looking for a spider. You're looking for a snake. It'll probably be brown in colour and possibly around three feet or so in length. Don't try and catch it. It'll be pretty fast-moving and could be aggressive. Call the Humane Society and tell them to be careful. It's extremely poisonous."

He hung up the phone and started for the door.

"Are you sure about this?" Wilson asked, catching his arm.

Chase nodded. "As sure as I can be. I've never seen a case myself but I've heard of what they're like and this matches."

"Is there an antivenin?"

Chase nodded again. "Yes but we're not likely to have it. I'm going to have to make some calls. The zoo should have it. Try and find where it bit him. It won't be obvious; Brown snakes don't have very large fangs."

Wilson let him go and watched as Chase strode out of the room. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment then went over and sat next to the bed again.

"Dammit, Greg, you would manage to get bitten by a snake that's not even native to America," he murmured.

He then frowned and picked up the hand that House had injured. He gently peeled the bandage back and closely examined it. There didn't seem to be any signs of a bite mark but if what Chase said was true then it could easily have been obscured by the scrapes. He carefully replaced the bandaged and held onto House's hand as he waited for Chase to return.

He shifted on the seat and felt something shift against his side. That reminded him of the box he'd placed in there earlier, the one House had gone after. He placed House's hand back on the bed and pulled the small box out of his pocket, turning it over a few times as he stared at it. He carefully opened the box and his jaw dropped. It was a ring; a plain gold ring that looked very old. And House had said it was for him. He swallowed hard as tears welled in his eyes. He knew what this meant. It meant House _did_ feel the same way about him as he did about House. He didn't know how to say it but he could and was showing it.

The small box shook in his hand as he looked between it and the unconscious man on the bed then in a swift movement he pulled the ring out of the box and tried it on his left ring finger. It was only a fraction loose; enough that he'd eventually want to get it refitted but not enough that it was likely to fall off. He looked down at the gold band on his finger and smiled wryly. He'd never worn a wedding ring for any of his wives and yet he was willing to wear this ring. Probably said a lot of things about him that he didn't want to consider right now. He snorted then tucked the empty box back into his pocket before picking up House's hand again and waiting.

It was an excruciatingly long hour before Chase returned with Foreman and Cameron in tow. An hour where House's vitals slowly got worse though at least he did not have another cardiac arrest. And an hour in which the nurses had given him increasingly curious and then slightly amused and oddly triumphant looks. Chase held up a small bottle of clear liquid as he walked in.

"Got it," he said with relief. "Thankfully the local zoo had some otherwise we'd have had to get some sent in from the Bronx Zoo. We need to give him antihistamines first."

"Why?" Wilson asked as Cameron began doing that.

"The antivenin is equine-derived," Chase explained as he set up the IV for delivery. "There's a risk of anaphylaxis. He'll need to stay on the antihistamines for about five days."

"Are there likely to be any long term effects?" Wilson asked.

"Probably not," Chase replied. "Though we'll need to watch out for secondary infections and serum sickness."

"Did you find the snake?" Wilson directed this question to Foreman and Cameron.

They nodded.

"It was in one of the boxes," Cameron said with a shudder. "It must have bitten him when he put his hand in it."

"Turns out the guy who owns the storage space three down keeps exotic reptiles and spiders," Foreman said dryly. "Unfortunately he keeps them illegally and doesn't really know what he's doing. The snake that bit House wasn't the only escapee; it was just the most dangerous. The Humane Society is going to be there for hours going through all the storage areas until they track everything down."

"I just don't understand how he didn't know he'd been bitten?" Cameron said, looking at House worriedly.

Chase shrugged. "They don't have very long fangs and often don't leave much of a mark. But you're right; he should have felt it at least."

"Not if he scraped his hand against some mirror shards at the same time," Wilson pointed out, gesturing to House's bandaged hand.

"There _was_ a broken mirror in the box the snake was in," Foreman said in agreement. "Yeah, that would have distracted anyone."

"And hidden the puncture wound if there was one visible," Chase added, frowning a little as the gesture Wilson had made brought the ring to his attention.

"So now we wait," Wilson said heavily. "Will he need another dose of the antivenin?"

"We'll wait and see," Chase replied.

* * *

"When are you going to spring me out of here?" House said crankily as Wilson walked into the hospital room.

"When Chase gives you the all clear," Wilson said calmly, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. The ring gleamed on his left hand.

"Just because it was an Australian snake doesn't mean I have to wait for the little wombat to decide I'm better," House groused.

"He knows more about it than any of us," Wilson replied. "And you're lucky he did."

"Foreman and Cameron would have found it," House said with a wave of his hand. "And don't think I don't know how they found out where I'd been."

"Then one of them might have been bitten as well and it would have taken time to identify the snake," Wilson said, ignoring the second part.

"I feel fine," House whined. "And I'm bored."

Wilson pointedly didn't look at the many books and journals littering the floor of the room as well as the Gameboy and the iPod on the table. Nor did he look at the TV which was on with the sound down.

"Well, we can't have that," was all he said in the blandest of tones.

"You're wearing it," House said, in a sudden shift of subject.

Wilson wasn't lost at this comment since he'd been waiting for House to make some kind of observation.

"Yes, I am," he said with a smile. "You did say it was for me."

House looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, yeah. Wasn't sure you'd actually wear it though. Makes a change."

Wilson rolled his eyes at the dig at his marriages. "I wanted to wear it."

House was silent for a moment. "Good."

"Though next time you want to give me something as significant as this," Wilson said, holding up the hand with the ring, "could you try to leave out the near death experience? I think we've both had enough of you having those."


	61. Black 2

**018. Black**

Motivation

"You will attend," Cuddy said with exasperation verging on irritation. "You will attend the Hospital fundraiser. It is a black tie event. You _will_ wear a tuxedo and you _will_ be polite to the hospital's donors. You will stay for a _minimum_ of two hours and that means _in_ the room with everyone else, not off hiding somewhere with Dr Wilson. And in return, _if_ and _only_ if you do all of this, I will give you all of next week off from clinic duty."

Cuddy stood in the middle of House's office as she lay that ultimatum down, her hands on her hips and an intractable expression on her face. In return House was slumped truculently in his chair with a sullen, sulky look. Privately Cuddy thought he was outdoing her five year old nephew in that department.

"Why do _I_ have to go?" House whined. "Take Cameron or Chase. They're pretty enough to please the donors."

"Drs Cameron and Chase, along with Dr Foreman, are already going," Cuddy said as patiently as she could manage. "However _you_ are the Head of Diagnostic Medicine and as such are _required_ to be there." She paused and decided to ratchet the stakes up a little. "If you do _not_ attend and abide by all the conditions I mentioned, I will _add_ twenty clinic hours to what you already owe."

"You can't do that!" House yelped indignantly.

Cuddy smirked at him. "I'm the boss. I can do whatever I like. Now which is it? The fundraiser or twenty more hours of hell?"

House sulked for a moment then muttered sourly, "The fundraiser."

"Excellent!" Cuddy said cheerfully then she turned and walked smartly out of the office.

House made a face at her retreating back then slumped down further in his chair, looking surly and morose. He loathed events like the upcoming fundraiser with a passion and had done his best to avoid going; he just hadn't expected Cuddy would be so ruthless.

"I take it from your air of specific miserableness that she blackmailed you into to going on Saturday night?"

House turned his head to see Wilson walking in from the balcony and he grunted in reply.

"How did she do it?" Wilson asked with an air of repressed amusement.

"Threatened me with _twenty_ more clinic hours," House replied sullenly. "She says I have to wear a tux and I have to stay in the room. For _two_ hours."

A smile curved Wilson's lips. "Good. I like seeing you in a tux. It suits you."

House's lips twitched into a sneer that not even the veiled desire in Wilson's eyes could shift. He and Wilson had been lovers for just two weeks and normally that look in Wilson's eyes would have him searching for an empty, lockable room but right now he was far too irritated that Cuddy had managed to outmanoeuvre him so effectively to respond.

"Of course, I'd rather see you _out_ of your tux but I think we can manage two hours of hands-off foreplay in public," Wilson said blandly.

_That_ got a bit more of a reaction out of House. He raised an eyebrow at Wilson, some of his bad mood slipping away as he remembered that _Wilson_ would be going as well…and wearing a tuxedo as well.

"You might want to shave though," Wilson continued thoughtfully.

"Cuddy didn't say anything about _that_," House countered with a smirk.

Wilson just gave him a warm look. "That one's not for Cuddy."

House's breath caught for a moment then a small smile broke out on his face.

"Two hours of foreplay, huh?" he said with a leer.

"_Hands-off_ foreplay," Wilson corrected. "Think of it as a challenge."

"You in a tuxedo with two hours of hands-off foreplay," House mused. "Now _there's_ an offer I can't refuse. Just as well you didn't get here before Cuddy. I might not have next week off from clinic duty."

"Well, that would have been a tragedy," Wilson said dryly. "Now since you don't have a patient and I don't have any meetings for the rest of the afternoon, want to adjourn this to my office? My nice, lacking all the glass walls office?"

House smirked and leered again. He grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet.

"You do have some good ideas every now and then."


	62. Colourless

**020. Colourless**

One Tequila, Two Tequila

House swirled the colourless liquid around in the glass and stared at it as though it held all the answers in the universe. In way he was hoping it did because he sure as hell needed some right now. Actually he really only needed one answer – why had he ruined his friendship with the only person who could stand being in a room with him for more than ten minutes?

It was his own fault, of course. It usually was when something got this monumentally screwed up. Kissing your best friend, your _only_ friend, your _straight_, three times _married_ friend, was not the wisest of moves. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it. Or rather he wasn't sure why he'd done it _now_ when he'd wanted to do it for years and had successfully managed to contain himself all that time.

In retrospect he was fairly sure it was the look on Wilson's face. Julie had filed for divorce, had sent the papers to her soon-to-be ex-husband's office.

Wilson had looked so defeated and beaten when he'd looked up at House and said, "I didn't even cheat on her. I was tempted, I looked but I didn't do anything. Why is the one time I don't screw around I still manage to screw it up?"

House hadn't really known how to answer that and before he'd even had a chance to come up with something moderately scathing Wilson had sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand. He'd given a self-mocking laugh and looked up at House.

"And the funny thing is this was the one time I actually wanted to have an affair," he said morosely. "I didn't do anything about it because…well, because I couldn't."

House raised an eyebrow at _that_ revelation. "Couldn't do anything about it? Why? How did this mystery woman manage to evade the charms of the Boy Wonder?"

Wilson had flushed at that and looked startled. He'd given House a deer in the headlights look as he mentally reviewed what he'd just said then he'd blushed a deep crimson and looked hurriedly down at the desk.

That reaction had piqued House's curiosity and started his mind running overtime. While he worked out possible reason for Wilson's reaction, he'd decided to tease a little.

"Hey, I haven't seen you blush like that since…" He paused and thought for a moment. "Hang on, I've never seen you blush like that. What's wrong, Jimmy? Your mystery woman actually a mystery man?"

The startled look and even deeper blush that he gained from that shot caused every jigsaw piece to fall into place. He wasn't entirely sure that the picture was the right one but the pieces sure as hell fit.

"Me?" he'd blurted out.

He got his proof that the picture was the right one when Wilson leapt to his feet and retreated to the opposite side of the room, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and staring at the floor. House had stared at his incredibly flustered friend for a moment then limped over to stand in front of him. Wilson very determinedly stared at his shoes until House grabbed his tie and tugged lightly. Then when Wilson looked up, House leaned forward and kissed him.

As first kisses go it had been fairly mundane until Wilson had overcome his surprise and tentatively kissed back. House had taken that as all the permission he needed and proceeded to claim Wilson as his own, feeling glee build up inside at the other man's moans. But when Wilson placed a solid hand on his chest and pushed them apart with a gasped "No" House thought that for once he'd misread the situation. He staggered away from Wilson and limped for the door as fast as he could manage.

He'd paused in the doorway, not looking back and whispering, "I'm sorry."

He'd gone back to his office and grabbed his bag before escaping from the hospital, ignoring his team when they tried to speak to him and Cuddy when she tried to stop him. He'd driven around for about half an hour before seeing the bar and deciding that getting plastered and hoping the Wilson would forgive him might be his best plan for the night.

"Are you drinking _tequila_?"

The oh-so-familiar voice broke into his thought and made him look up. Wilson was standing next to the table, looking slightly quizzical and smiling that warm smile that House liked so much.

"When in Rome," House said with a shrug. "Or in this case, when in a Mexican-themed bar."

"I didn't think you liked tequila," Wilson observed as he slid into the booth seat beside House.

House drew in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity.

"Yeah, well, I was planning on getting kind of drunk and you get more bang for your buck with this crap," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage with Wilson sitting so close.

Wilson tapped his fingers against the table then took the shot glass away from House, draining what was left in it and placing it on the table.

"Why were planning on getting drunk?" he asked calmly.

"Because I managed to screw up the only friendship I've got left and I was looking to drown my sorrows," House growled.

"What makes you think you did that?"

"I kissed you, you didn't want me to," House snapped, looking around to try and find the barman.

Wilson looked contemplative. "You guessed right and I kissed back. I know your brain works in mysterious ways sometimes but how exactly did you extrapolate that I didn't want you to kiss me?"

"You stopped me and said no," House said, now starting to feel a little confused and not sure whether to blame the tequila or the man sitting next to him.

"I stopped you because I didn't think making out in the middle of my office at work was a very good idea," Wilson said patiently. "I was going to suggest that we wait until after work when we could go back to your place and take advantage of your really comfortable couch and if things went well enough your really comfortable bed."

House stopped trying to find the barman in favour of staring at Wilson who simply stared back with amusement and an unmissable invitation in his eyes.

"You were?" he said blankly then he began to grin a little. "I like that suggestion."

Wilson made a show of checking his watch. "And it is officially after work." He slid out of the booth and raised an eyebrow at House. "Coming?"

"So many ways to take that," House said with a leer. "And I think I agree with them all."


	63. Family

**Okay, this one's a little on the odd side and a very good reason why you should never let me write fics at eleven o'clock at night after I've had a long, busy day at work then gone out and had a blindingly good meal and probably too much wine. My brain goes all weird.**

**

* * *

024. Family**

We Are Family

House slowly lowered himself into the armchair in the corner of his office and let out a long sigh. Today was not turning out to be one of his better days. His leg was hurting more than usual which was probably due to the weather. As a result he'd taken more Vicodin than he ought to have. He also had the beginnings of a cold and had been attacking that before it could get worse on Wilson's insistence. However the combination of the Vicodin and the cold medication was making him feel lightheaded and distinctly off-kilter. As a result of _that_, he'd been a little more defensive and ornery than normal and right now he pretty much had everyone he'd dealt with that day more than a little irritated with him, from Wilson down his patient's family.

He sighed again as he scrubbed his face with one hand. After his last little snarky outburst, this one aimed at his team, Wilson had sent him to his office with the order to get some rest before lynch mobs started forming. He'd obeyed the order fairly docilely; partly because it got him away from everyone and they would all have orders not to disturb him but mostly because Wilson was starting to get that expression on his face that said quite clearly that if he kept going the way he was, Wilson was going to be sleeping in the spare room until House chose to apologise. His team had goggled at him when he'd rather meekly agreed with Wilson and he'd waited until he'd gotten to the door until he'd given them the most evil smile he could muster.

"What? Haven't you ever seen Mommy and Daddy fight before?" he'd said as snidely as he could then limped out of the room to the sound of Wilson spluttering and the wide-eyed gazes of his team boring into his back.

He snickered as he settled himself more comfortably into his chair. He knew that Foreman at the very least had some suspicions about the new direction his relationship with Wilson had taken but he wasn't entirely sure about the other two. The 'Mommy and Daddy' comment had been more directed at Wilson though in response to Wilson's continual, amused references to his team being his 'kids'.

House's eyes slowly slipped closed as the combination of the Vicodin, the cold medication and his own weariness took their toll and as sleep started to sneak up on him the random thought of what a bizarre and extremely dysfunctional family they made crawled through his drug-addled mind.

He _definitely_ got to be the Daddy since this was his distorted thought and Wilson got to be the Mommy because that way he could still sleep with him. That and Wilson was the one who actually cared about people. From his experience with his own family, Mommies were the ones who cared and Daddies were the ones who disapproved of everything their sons did.

Foreman got to be the oldest child since he was the one who was always rebelling against Daddy and wanting his independence while being very similar to his father. Cameron could be the middle child since she was the one who wanted attention from both parents. Chase could be the youngest; always battling against the expectations set up by the elder children and occasionally undermining his siblings.

He snorted quietly; considering the shenanigans Chase and Cameron had gotten up to maybe a family wasn't the best analogy. Unless they were one of those families you saw on Jerry Springer on occasion.

It was with that thought that he fell asleep…

…

House limped up the path to the front door of the large single storey home and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the front door and dumped the keys in the small bowl on the table near the front door. He placed his bag under the table and closed the door.

"Honey, I'm home," he called as he walked into the house.

Wilson walked out of the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with an apron over the top.

"Hey, Greg," he said as he walked over and kissed House on the cheek. "How was your day?"

"Same as usual," House said with faint disgust. "Cuddy's being unreasonable. And now she wants me to go to a conference. I'd have to leave on Thursday."

"You can't," Wilson objected. "It's Alison's recital on Friday night. You promised you'd be there."

"I know," House snapped as he followed Wilson into the kitchen. "I told her that. So instead she's making me do more damn clinic hours."

Wilson sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned against House and kissed him briefly.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," Wilson said in a low heated voice.

A smile flashed across House's face and he returned the kiss. "I'll hold you to that."

Wilson grinned then he sobered. "I think you need to talk to Robert."

"What's he done now?" House said wearily. Their youngest was a constant problem.

"Well it's not too bad this time and I think you'll like this one," Wilson said with amusement. "He put frog intestines down the front of Tracy Blackwell's shirt."

House snickered. "That's my boy."

"Greg," Wilson said mildly.

"What's wrong with stuffing frog guts down a girl's shirt," House said with a laugh. "Does he like her?"

Wilson looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure that one's in the book. Does shoving frog intestines down a girl's shirt mean you like her?"

"Bet she doesn't like _him_ too much," House said roguishly.

"You _are_ going to speak to him, aren't you?" Wilson asked.

"What am I supposed to say?" House said with exasperation. "I think he already knows he shouldn't do something like that."

"Greg," Wilson said with a growl.

"Fine," House said, throwing one hand in the air. "Where are the other two?"

"Alison's doing her homework and Eric's over at Carl's place," Wilson replied. "He should be home soon."

House grunted as he limped out of the kitchen and down the hall to Robert's bedroom. He knocked on the door then opened it. The youngest of his kids was lying on his bed, reading a book and rather determinedly ignoring the rest of the world. House gave him a jaundiced look then limped over and sat down on the bed.

"Why frog guts?" he said into the almost sullen silence.

Robert didn't answer for a moment then he shrugged.

"They were convenient."

House considered that for a moment. "Did she scream?"

A grin flashed across Robert's face though he ostensibly kept his attention on his book. "Yeah. _Really_ loud."

"Cool," House said with a matching grin. "You know you shouldn't do that?"

"Yeah," Robert said with a grimace. "I already got the lecture."

"Good. Means I don't have to give it," House said, pushing himself to his feet. "Once was funny, Rob, but don't do it again."

"Yeah. 'Kay, Dad."

House waited until he got back out into the corridor with the door closed before breaking into a wide grin. Robert might give them more trouble than Eric and Alison combined but he reminded him of what _he_ had been like as a kid more than the others. Which was probably the reason why he let the kid get away with murder sometimes, much to Wilson's disapproval. As he turned to limp back towards the kitchen, a door at the end of the corridor opened.

"Dad?" came Alison's soft, concerned voice.

House fought the urge to roll his eyes and snap at the girl. Ever since what they had taken to calling 'The Incident' had happened, Alison had been tiptoeing around him, trying to help when he didn't need it and just generally annoying him. Admittedly for the first few months it hadn't been that bad since he'd often needed the help but five years down the track he pretty much had the whole cripple thing under control and her constant solicitude was wearying to say the least.

"Yes, Alison," he said as patiently as he could.

She seemed to pick up on his underlying mood. "Oh, er, it's nothing really. I just thought I heard you out here." She paused. "Are you coming Friday?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" House replied.

"Yes but…"

Her voice trailed off and House grimaced. She had a point with that 'yes but'. On more than one occasion he'd said he'd be somewhere but had ended up being called in to the hospital.

"I'll be there," he said firmly.

"Unless you get called in," Alison said almost sullenly.

House sighed. "I can't control when the patients arrive, Alison, or what they do after they get there."

"You always say that," the young woman replied sharply before she turned and went back in her room.

House rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. That had gone as well as it generally did. He shook his head and limped back into the kitchen.

"Well?" Wilson asked when he got there.

"Spoke to Rob, annoyed Alison," he reported. "So about normal really."

Wilson turned around and eyed him with concern. "What was it about with Alison this time?"

House shrugged. "The usual. My leg, Friday, my work." Wilson sighed and House held up one hand. "And don't tell me she'll get over it. My leg's been like this for _five years_. She needs to stop treating me like I'm about to break."

"Greg, she was there when your leg got really bad," Wilson chided. "She saw what it was like before they started giving you the drugs. It scared her. Add to that you nearly died and well…give her time."

House grumbled under his breath. "How _much_ time, Jimmy? She's _had_ time."

Wilson's reply was interrupted by the front door banging open then slamming closed. They heard the sound of a heavy bag being dropped then their eldest, Eric, stuck his head into the kitchen.

"Hey Dad, you're home," he said with a hint of surprise. "Did Dr Cuddy fire you or something?"

"No," House said with amusement. "But I did annoy her a lot today. And show some respect. I'm your father…and a cripple. Either one should work."

Eric grinned back. "Dad, you're only a cripple when it suits you. Or when you're close enough to smack someone with your cane."

House laughed and pulled out the small bottle of pills from his jacket pocket. He quickly dry-swallowed one, not missing the looks of concern from partner and son.

Eric looked slightly hesitant. "Dad…"

"Don't start," House said in a warning tone.

"You take too many," Eric persisted.

"Eric," House snapped.

"Enough, both of you," Wilson said firmly. "This is neither the time nor the place for this argument. Eric, go and set the table then get your brother and sister." He paused and waited until Eric gave a huff of irritation and stormed out of the kitchen. "And Greg…he's right but we'll talk about this later."

"I don't need my own son telling me…"

"What you already know," Wilson interrupted. "He worries about you. Now go and get ready for dinner. We'll deal with this later."

House scowled for a moment then limped out of the room, reflecting on yet another run-of-the-mill evening in the House-Wilson household…

…

House came awake with a start that caused a flare of pain to radiate out from his leg. He relaxed back into his chair as he fumbled for his Vicodin. He tapped one out of the bottle and swallowed it as the remnants of his dream swirled around his mind. He started to laugh as he tucked the bottle back into his pocket. That whole thing had been disturbingly domestic and he didn't think he'd _ever_ done domestic.

Still, Wilson in those jeans and t-shirt and the apron had been almost…_cute_ and he made a mental note to never mix cold medication, Vicodin, tiredness and his snarky comments again. The dreams were distinctly bizarre. As he let the Vicodin haze overtake him he made a second mental note to try and get Wilson into jeans and a t-shirt as soon as possible. He looked delectable in them and then he could have the fun of taking Wilson out of them…


	64. Strangers 2

**025. Strangers**

Question

It felt like they were strangers again.

Even though Wilson was sitting no more then four feet away from him, House felt like he was in the company of a stranger. It felt odd, unsettling, uncomfortable. In fact House was sure it hadn't even felt like this when he'd first met Wilson so many years ago. They'd just seemed to click in some strange way from the moment they first met; Oncology's latest wunderkind and the sarcastic bastard from Infectious Diseases. That connection had only gotten stronger over the years, especially after the infarction when Wilson had been the only one he hadn't been able to completely alienate.

"You bastard," Wilson said into the tense silence that had descended onto the room. "All I wanted was one single straight answer. Hell, you only really had to say yes or no. But you couldn't even do that. You have to play games all the damn time. I thought we were friends. I thought I was more than just another puzzle to you. I thought you actually gave a damn about me, about what I think. I wish that just for once you'd prove that to me. That'd you'd stop lying to me and to yourself. Or is that too much for the great Dr Gregory House?"

House swallowed hard in the abrupt silence that fell at the end of Wilson's diatribe. He was becoming aware that they had reached some kind of watershed. That his response now would be the difference between Wilson staying or Wilson leaving, perhaps forever. The ball was most definitely in his court, never something that was designed to make him comfortable; not before the infarction and most emphatically not now. But it was his decision to make and from the expression on Wilson's face, he didn't have much time to make it.

"Ask the question again," he said hoarsely.

Wilson's eyes narrowed and just for a moment House thought he might get up and storm out of the room. But then he nodded his head and his lips thinned.

"I'm getting a divorce," he said in clipped tones, deciding to repeat his entire speech. "And I've decided that I need to stop denying what I really want. It's only making me and my ex-wives miserable. I've been attracted to you for a long time, Greg, and I think I'm in love with you. I think that if our friendship has survived all the crap that's been thrown at it over the years, it could survive us becoming lovers. And that's what I want. I know you've been with men before I met you so I guess the only thing I really need to know now is: do you want this?"

Some idle part of House's mind noticed that on the second recitation the speech had lost all of the stammering and blushing that had accompanied the first effort. He drew in a deep breath and banished that thought for later consideration then he slowly, as though with the weight of the world, raised his face to look Wilson in eye.

"Yes," he choked out, mentally hearing the sounds of his well-buttressed walls falling to the man sitting opposite him.

Delight and triumph flooded across Wilson's face and the tense, terse air in the room faded into nothing. As House watched, Wilson got to his feet and…_prowled_ over to the armchair he was sitting in. He moved forward until he was standing with his legs on either side of House's outstretched legs then he leaned forward and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. He continued to lean forward until their noses where almost touching.

He paused there, silent and intent, then he slowly moved forward again until their lips met. The kiss was sweet and light and chaste until the exact moment that House parted his lips. Wilson seemed to take this as his final acceptance and he suddenly shifted the kiss to something fierce and intense, passionate and possessive.

House moaned at the sudden assault and one hand almost convulsively rose to slide into Wilson's hair. Wilson climbed onto the chair, straddling his legs and while he was careful, House noted with the few brain cells that were still working that Wilson wasn't going out of his way to avoid his leg. That was something unexpected and it pleased him that Wilson wouldn't be overly solicitous in these circumstances.

Just then Wilson slid one hand down between them and cupped his erection and those few brain cells of House's gave up the ghost. He groaned into Wilson's mouth and bucked up as best as he could, barely feeling the flash of pain that movement engendered. He whimpered…actually _whimpered_… when Wilson pulled away then gave a half-hearted scowl at the other man's chuckle.

"Bed. Now," Wilson said with a heated smile as he climbed off the chair.

House grabbed his cane and hauled himself to his feet. House limped towards the bedroom as best as he could with Wilson all but pressed up against him and he smiled. They weren't strangers anymore.


	65. Teammates

**026. Teammates**

Teamwork

When House stumped into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room with the mother of all scowls on his face, Chase, Foreman and Cameron almost instinctively hunched their shoulders and waited for the snark to fly. They were more than a little surprised when House said nothing. He merely poured himself a cup of coffee, growled at them indistinctly then retreated to his office where he promptly turned on the most obnoxious music he possessed.

"Okay, that was unusual," Chase said warily.

"House being pissed off isn't _that_ unusual," Foreman replied.

"House being pissed off and not taking it out on _us_ is unusual," Chase insisted. "We're normally target number one."

"Chase is right," Cameron said before Foreman could reply. "You know House likes to spread the misery."

"Well, okay fine," Foreman conceded. "But so what? For once he's keeping his bad mood to himself. That's something to be pleased about, not get curious about."

"Unless he's saving it up for some reason," Chase said ominously. "He might come out of his office in half an hour and make our lives hell."

Foreman considered that for a moment then winced. Chase was right; it would be a very House thing to do.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"Dr Wilson's staying with him at the moment, isn't he?" Cameron said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, while his divorce goes through," Chase replied.

"Well then, that makes things easier," Cameron said. "We ask Dr Wilson what's going on."

"Okay," Chase said with a shrug.

The three doctors got up and shot wary glances into the office. House was ignoring them. In fact he was lying on the floor behind his desk so they felt fairly safe in sneaking out of there. They wandered next door to Wilson's office but he was nowhere to be found. His secretary informed them that he'd come in early that morning and hadn't been in the best of moods.

They walked away from Wilson's office with looks of apprehension on their faces.

"House is pissed and Dr Wilson's in a bad mood," Chase said flatly. "We are in so much trouble."

"Unless we find out what's wrong and try to fix it," Cameron said thoughtfully.

"What?" Foreman yelped. "Are you crazy? I say we stay as far out of this as possible."

"How can we?" Cameron countered. "You know that anything that affects House ends up affecting us. I say we get this sorted as soon as possible so that we can go back to our nice normal lives."

"I'm with Cameron," Chase said. "I think trying to sort this out is the lesser of two really evil things."

Foreman stared at the two of them for a moment then threw up his hands in disgust. "Fine! Since the two of you are completely insane and can't keep your noses out of other people's business. So what do we do?"

"You're probably the best at dealing with House when he's in a pissy mood, so you go back to the conference room and keep an eye on him," Cameron said briskly. "Chase, you go and talk to the Oncology nurses. They might have more information on why Dr Wilson's in a bad mood."

"What are you going to do?" Foreman asked with a disgruntled expression.

"I'm going to find Dr Wilson and talk to him," Cameron replied.

"Good luck," Foreman said reluctantly. "You're gonna need it."

Cameron gave him an exasperated look then walked away own the corridor. Foreman shook his head then patted Chase on the shoulder and headed back to Diagnostic Medicine, leaving Chase to find some nurses.

Cameron walked down the hallway and considered where Dr Wilson might be hiding. She'd already dropped in to see his secretary again but she'd had no idea, only suggesting that perhaps the clinic might be an option. She paused at the end of the corridor and debated whether or not to check the clinic. Dr Wilson's secretary might be right but then again the clinic was an obvious place to be and if Dr Wilson was looking to avoid House, he wouldn't be likely to be anywhere obvious. As she stood there, the sounds of the gossiping nurses not too far away caught her attention; mostly because the names 'Dr Wilson' and 'Dr House' had just been mentioned.

"…and then Dr House turned up in a foul mood or so Connie told me," one of the nurses was saying. "She was on the front desk this morning."

"Do you think it was a lover's quarrel?" a second nurse giggled.

"Let's hope not," a third, older nurse said, rolling her eyes. "Though it is nice to see them make truth out of the rumours."

"How do you _know_ it's truth?" the fourth nurse said cynically.

The second nurse giggled harder. "Because Eileen caught them at it," he said, gesturing to the older nurse.

The other two gaped at Eileen and demanded details.

"I didn't _catch_ them at it," Eileen said with amusement. "But it was obvious to anyone with eyes and a nose they _been_ at it. And in one of the exam rooms too. Just as well the clinic was pretty quiet. There weren't any patients at the time."

"So what were _you_ doing looking in the exam rooms?" the first nurse asked eagerly.

"Dr House hadn't returned the file for his last patient," Eileen replied. "I didn't realise Dr Wilson had come down. He must have snuck past when my back was turned. _He_ had the good grace to look rather embarrassed but Dr House just looked smug."

"Dr House _always_ looks smug," the fourth nurse said, rolling her eyes, then she shrugged. "Besides if _I_ had just had Dr Wilson, _I'd_ look pretty smug too."

"What a waste," the first nurse said regretfully. "Though I suppose it explains the three marriages."

"Guess there must be more to Dr House than meets the eye," the second nurse observed. "I can't imagine Dr Wilson putting up with him if it wasn't worth it."

"Well, he _is_ pretty good-looking once you get past the scruffy clothes and the stubble," Eileen said speculatively. "It's just his attitude that puts people off. Why would you put up with _that_ unless you were in love? _Or_ unless you get to see a side of Dr House that we don't?"

"Well, _I_ think they look very cute together," the second nurse said decisively.

The other nurses laughed and agreed with her.

"_I_ just wish they wouldn't bring their lover's quarrels to work with them," Eileen said ruefully. "Dr House will probably hide in his office unless he gets forced into doing clinic duty then woe betide anyone who crosses his path."

"Thank goodness he's not on the roster for today," the first nurse said fervently. "Because I am."

"I feel sorry for his team," the fourth nurse said. "They work together pretty well unless Dr House is stirring them up and you can bet that's what he'll do in this kind of mood."

"And no Dr Wilson to settle him down," the first nurse added.

"Come on," Eileen said abruptly. "Here comes Dr Cuddy. Back to work."

The four nurses scattered and Cameron ducked back down the hallway and found an empty room. She leaned against the wall and swallowed hard. House and Wilson were _lovers_? She didn't doubt the nurses; if you wanted the latest gossip on anything you went to the nurses and nine times out of ten they were right. Why hadn't they seen this? House wasn't the most discreet of men; she'd have expected him to be making plenty of public comments. To see Dr Wilson get flustered if nothing else.

On the other hand, this _did_ explain House's bad mood rather handily. Wilson was the only one who regularly won arguments with House and that usually never failed to get House in a bad mood. Only what could they do about it?

She slowly made her way back to the Diagnostic Medicine conference room where she found Foreman and Chase sitting at the table. House was apparently still in his office since the music was blaring away.

"He hasn't budged," Foreman said when she walked in.

"The Oncology nurses wouldn't talk to me," Chase said rather plaintively. "In fact they were pretty snippy. I think they're taking Wilson's side of whatever argument those two are having."

"They're lovers," Cameron blurted out.

There was a moment of dead silence before Foreman said carefully, "Who are?"

"House. And Wilson," Cameron replied with a slightly eerie calm.

"Okay," Foreman replied. "How do you know?"

"I overheard one of the nurses saying that she nearly caught them having sex in one of the exam rooms," Cameron replied.

"Oooo_kay_," Foreman replied, his eyes wide. "I'll accept that."

"It's a _lover's quarrel_?" Chase asked incredulously. "Oh no, I think we should stay _right out_ of this one."

"I agree," Foreman said fervently. "I am _not_ getting involved in their personal lives."

"I'm in…complete agreement," Cameron said still with that eerie calm. "I think they can…sort this out for themselves."

The three teammates looked at each other for a moment, quite comfortable with their mutual agreement.

"Let's get out of here though," Chase said with a nervous glance at the office. "I think staying out of this one is going to mean _literally_ staying out of this one."

Foreman and Cameron nodded and the three doctors rose in unison and beat a hasty and mostly dignified retreat.


	66. Parents

**027. Parents**

Confessions in the Night

"Have you told your parents about us?" Wilson asked quietly.

He was half on top and half curled around House so he felt his lover tense up immediately.

"I'll take that as a no," he murmured, pressing a soothing kiss onto House's neck just below the stubble.

"My…my Mom knows," House said reluctantly. "She guessed."

"How did she react?"

House snorted. "She was surprised but happy. She likes you. She thinks you're good for me. She's pleased you make me _happy_." The last was said rather sarcastically.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "I don't make you happy? You seemed pretty thrilled earlier."

Wilson heard the low chuckle that rumbled through the chest he was resting on.

"Yeah, I suppose I was."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Wilson spoke again.

"What about your Dad?"

"Mom's going to tell him," House admitted after a long pause.

"Is he going to be upset that…" Wilson's voice trailed off awkwardly.

"That his son is a fag?" House said sarcastically. "Well, I've disappointed him in every other way, why not this?"

"I'm sure he's not disappointed in you," Wilson said firmly. "He doesn't know that you…bat for both teams? Parents often do."

House's arms tightened around Wilson, pulling him even closer as though he was unconsciously looking for comfort.

"I think Mom's suspected since she guessed so quickly," he said quietly. "But I don't think Dad's ever thought that way. Mom said to leave him to her; she'll know the best way to tell him."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Wilson said soothingly then he paused for a moment. "I told my parents."

He could almost hear House's eyebrows going up.

"What did they say?" House asked, amusement starting to creep into his voice.

"My mother was disappointed at first since she wanted more grandchildren," Wilson replied. "But she likes you for some reason so she bounced back pretty well. She says you have to come over for Hanukah this year. She insisted."

He laughed as House's groan reverberated in his ear.

"I think I'm on duty that night," House said hastily.

"Oh no, you're not," Wilson said firmly. "I've already made arrangements with Cuddy. If I have to go, you have to go. You're not getting out of this one."

"Now _this_ is why I try and stay _out_ of relationships," House pointed out.

"Too bad," Wilson said with amusement. "You're in this one now and I'm not letting you go." He paused then said with a laugh in his voice, "There are perks of course."

"You mean if I go, I get sex?" House asked, the leer plain in his tone.

"Well, that too," Wilson said with mock-thoughtfulness. "I was more thinking that if you go, my mother will insist on feeding you. And making sure we take lots of food home with us."

"Mmm, your mother's cooking and sex," House said with satisfaction. "Okay, you've convinced me. Both better be worth it though."

"I'm sure they will," Wilson replied.

"What did your Dad say?" House asked after a few more moments of silence.

Wilson snickered. "He took it better than Mom. He just looked me up and down and said 'About time you worked it out. Pity you didn't do it after the second wedding. Would have saved a lot of money.'"

House's laugh was loud and genuine. "I think I like your Dad."

"You two are going to get along really well," Wilson said dryly. "Which is a worry for the rest of us."

House pulled him up and kissed him slowly.

"Enough talk about parents," he said when the kiss broke.

"Yeah," Wilson breathed as he leaned back in to continue the kiss.


	67. Children

**028. Children**

The Difference

The children were the worst. Cancer was an ugly disease that claimed lives in ugly ways but it was at its most ugly with the children. It was heart wrenching in many ways, watching the children be brave for their parents, for their families. Watching them try not to cry when the pain got bad. Watching them swallow hard and dredge up a smile and even a joke from somewhere when their hair fell out and their energy and strength disappeared. And it always seemed like something died inside when one of them died.

House often mocked him when he got emotional; teased and taunted, shocking and horrifying their colleagues. Wilson never minded too much though. It hurt sometimes to hear those words come out of House's mouth, to see House dismiss these children that he _did_ care about so much as though they were nothing. But he knew something that no one else did.

House _did_ care. Deep down inside where he never allowed anyone to see he actually _did_ give a damn about the people he treated, the people Wilson treated and Wilson himself. He'd deny it to his dying breath of course, something that made Wilson shake his head with exasperation at times. And he'd certainly never say anything, not even in the privacy of his own home, not even to Wilson.

So how did Wilson know this? Because even though House might not say it, might _refuse_ to say it, might be _unable_ to say it, he could and did show it. He showed it in the silence he allowed to reign when they returned to House's apartment after one of Wilson's children had died. He showed it in the calm music he would coax out of the piano when Wilson finally sighed and started to relax. He showed it in his little actions, his gentle caresses…one of the few times House _was_ gentle. He showed it in the way he would make love to Wilson…for it was never just sex on those nights.

People often asked Wilson, usually in incredulous tones, how he managed to put up with House. A question that came most often after one of House's indifferent displays to one of his dead children. Wilson would always make some offhand, even slightly inane, response about familiarity breeding contempt and he'd smile. Many people would give him an odd look at that smile; it was a secretive smile, even a smug one. Because Wilson knew something they didn't and that made all the difference.


	68. Who?

**076. Who?**

Who are we?

Wilson sat next to the hospital bed and scrubbed his face with his hands. He was tired; he'd had almost no sleep in the last twenty-four hours. He looked at the inhabitant of the bed and grimaced. House looked terrible. His face was covered in bruises and abrasions; his left eye was swollen shut and there was a line of stitches above his eyebrow. Surprisingly the rest of his body was pretty much untouched, only a few bruises here and there. Most of the impact of the collision between the car and his bike had been when House's head had hit the car then the road and finally the light pole.

Wilson had seen the helmet House had been wearing and he couldn't quite believe that House had managed to get out of it with only bruises, abrasions and a single gash. The helmet was almost shattered; it was certainly unwearable now. The doctors down in the ER had insisted on x-rays and scans being done and all of them had come back absolutely clear which had baffled the doctors. There was no apparent swelling, haemorrhage or anything else. Wilson snorted softly; anyone else would probably be dead but House had got out of it almost scot-free.

A low moan from the bed drew his attention and he leaned forward as House's eyes flickered open.

"Greg?" he said softly. "It's James. It's alright, you're at the hospital."

"Who?" House said with confusion, his eyes shifting until they were resting on Wilson. "Who are you?"

Wilson blinked as something caught inside his chest. Okay, no one had mentioned _this_ as a possibility since there didn't seem to be any brain trauma.

"James Wilson," he said slowly. "Don't you remember me?"

"Uh, no," House said with a frown. "Um, who am I?"

Wilson's breath caught and he had to work hard to keep his expression from betraying his shock.

"You…don't remember?" he said carefully.

"Would I be asking if I remembered?" House snapped, frustration, fear and a hint of panic growing in his eyes.

"Okay," Wilson said soothingly. "Your name is Gregory House. You're a doctor." He paused. "How much do you remember?"

House's forehead creased as he struggled to think. "Nothing," he whispered. "I don't remember anything."

Wilson swallowed hard. "I'm…going to go and get your doctor. I'll be right back."

"J…James?" House said with uncertainty as Wilson headed for the door.

Wilson stopped and looked back. "Yes, Greg?"

"Are…are we…_friends_?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Wilson said through the lump in his throat. "Yes, we are."

House nodded, frowning as he cudgelled his mind, trying to find his memories. Fits and sparks of memories glimmered at the edge of his awareness but he couldn't seem to catch them. Wilson watched him for a moment then he hurried out of the room. He returned fairly quickly with the admitting doctor and then the circus began. Other doctors were summoned and they prodded and poked and asked questions that House couldn't answer. Wilson could see that House was rapidly getting upset and panicked and he stepped forward.

"Enough," he said sharply, gaining instant silence and everyone's attention. "Look, you're just upsetting him. Unless you've got anything concrete or you've got tests to run, I think you should take your speculations out of the room."

The doctors looked startled and they looked back at House who was now also looking distressed. Wilson was fairly sure of the cause and he wanted to get the other doctors out of the room before he spoke about it with House.

"Good point, Dr Wilson," the admitting doctor said with a nod. "We will have some tests to run but we need to work out exactly which ones. We'll be back later."

The doctors all trooped out of the room and Wilson hurried over to House's side. He opened the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a small orange pill bottle. He quickly took the top off and shook one out, picking up the glass of water that sat nearby and offering both to House.

"You need to take this," he said firmly.

"Why?" House asked, his breathing starting to become more rapid.

"Just take it and I'll explain," Wilson demanded.

House gave him a long look then the pain made him reach out and take both pill and glass. He swallowed the pill, chasing with a sip of water then handed the glass back to Wilson.

"Now explain," he demanded.

Wilson took the glass and put it back on the bedside table. He then pulled a chair up and sat down, taking as long as he could to let the Vicodin take effect. He knew when it had when House started to relax again.

"Where was the pain coming from?" Wilson asked patiently.

"My leg," House replied. "My right thigh to be precise."

Wilson paused. "Have a look at it."

House frowned then lifted the blanket and sheet away and looked down at his leg. He paled as he saw the long scar that ran up his thigh and the obvious lack of muscle tissue.

"What…what happened to me?" he said, his voice shaky with shock as he let the blanket and sheet drop.

"You…had an infarction in your thigh," Wilson explained. "There was…a delay in diagnosing the problem and there were additional problems. They had to operate…remove the dead muscle tissue in your thigh. There was nerve damage, that's why you're in pain." He gestured to the cane leaning against the bedside table. "That's yours as well. You…need it to walk. You take Vicodin for the pain."

"When?" House breathed.

"About five years ago," Wilson replied. He knew he should probably try and let House remember all of this for himself but this was one thing that he felt should be an exception.

"I don't remember," House whispered.

"It'll come back to you," Wilson said, more in hope than anything else right now.

House frowned and gave a rather absent nod. He then looked around the room and back at Wilson.

"We're friends," he said slowly.

"Yes," Wilson replied, even though it hadn't been a question.

"Are we…more?" House asked almost hesitantly. "Are we…lovers?"

Wilson gaped and stammered but was saved from having to make a reply of any kind by the admitting doctor entering the room again.

"Dr House. Dr Wilson," he said with a nod. "We've got a few tests we'd like to run."

Wilson nodded and stood. "He's taken a Vicodin."

"Shouldn't have any effect on what we want to do," the doctor said as a nurse came in with a wheelchair. "Ready, Dr House?"

House was eyeing the wheelchair with suspicion. "What's she got _that_ for?"

"Well, you haven't forgotten everything then," Wilson said with exasperation. "No one gets to walk to their tests, House. Not even you."

House shot him a look that surprised Wilson until he realised he'd fallen back into his normal pattern of addressing House now that there were others in the room. He ignored it for now in favour of picking up House's cane and offering it to him. House frowned as he pushed back the sheet and blanket and swung his legs towards the side. He stopped almost immediately with a hiss of pain. He took several deep breaths before swinging his left leg around and using both hands to shift his right leg as well. Wilson reached over and picked up the hospital dressing gown that been left and giving it to House. He put it on then took the cane before easing his feet to the floor. He winced as his leg twinged and braced himself with his cane. The nurse brought the wheelchair forward and House awkwardly limped over and sat down.

Wilson hesitated for a moment then placed a hand on House's shoulder. "Do you want me to come with you?"

House was silent for a long moment then he nodded. Wilson patted him on the shoulder then the doctor gestured to the nurse and they all left the room.

When they finally returned three hours later, House was exhausted and Wilson wasn't that far behind him. He was a little worried that House was so passive in his exhaustion; in his experience a tired House was a cranky House. When they got into the room, Wilson waved away the nurse and pushed the wheelchair across to the bed. They'd lost the doctor on the way back to another emergency call though he'd promised to get back to them as soon as he had any results.

"Greg?" he said softly when House didn't move.

House jerked and looked around blankly. He shook his head slightly then slowly got to his feet, collapsing back into his bed with a pained grunt. Wilson took the wheelchair out of the room then returned to find House hadn't moved except to throw one arm over his eyes. He walked over to the bedside table and pulled out the bottle of Vicodin again.

"Here," he said quietly, offering another pill to House.

"'S only been three hours," House said, his words almost slurred in his weariness.

"I know," Wilson said neutrally. "But you'd better take one anyway."

House removed the arm from over his eyes and turned his head to look with a frown first at Wilson then at the white pill in his hand. He then reached out and took the pill, putting it in his mouth and swallowing it with some of the water from the glass Wilson offered him.

"So why are you giving me pills earlier than I should be taking them?" House asked as he handed the glass back.

Wilson hesitated then sighed. "I…think you should remember that one for yourself."

House scowled for a moment then nodded. One thing he'd been told more than once in the last three hours was that he needed to try and remember things for himself rather be told them by others. But at least some residual things were coming back, like the knowledge of medications and when they should and shouldn't be taking them. Unfortunately the big things, the important things weren't coming back _quite_ so easily.

"So are you going to answer my question?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Uh, which question was that?" Wilson stammered, prevaricating a little.

"Are we lovers?" House asked. "Because I think we are."

"You…remember something," Wilson asked, stalling for more time.

House frowned and his gaze turned slightly inwards. "Sort of…I think. Not memories…sort of…_impressions_ maybe." He shook his head and came back to himself. "They feel real though and they say we're lovers."

Wilson looked everywhere except at House then he sat down abruptly.

"Yes," he said, his voice barely audible. "Yes, we are."

"How long?" House demanded.

"Not long," Wilson replied. "Couple of days. My…wife left me. I came to stay with you. Things…kind of led on from there."

House was silent and Wilson wondered how he was going to react; whether this new amnesiac House would reject what had just begun between them.

"I'm tired," House said abruptly.

Wilson felt like his heart had just crumbled and he ducked his head.

"I'll uh…let you get some sleep," he said, wondering how he'd managed to keep his voice level.

"Stay," House said and Wilson looked up to see House was struggling with his words.

"You're…you're tired," House said slowly then he gave a small smile. "There's plenty of room here."

"What?" Wilson stammered.

"I don't remember my name or yours or much of anything else but I do remember at least a little of what's between us," House said with a frustrated look. "That's…gotta mean something, right?"

"I…suppose so," Wilson replied. "But I don't think the nurses would approve."

"Of us?" House said with a frown.

Wilson smothered a smile. "No. Of me sleeping in the same bed as a patient. I don't think I care that much whether or not they approve of us."

"Then stay here," House said simply.

Wilson hesitated then he saw the expression that House was trying to hide. House was scared and it was easy to work out why. No memories, in a place he did not recognise, with people who knew him but he couldn't remember.

"Okay," he said with a small smile as he toed off his shoes and pulled his jacket and tie off. "Shove over. I always take this side."

House snorted as he moved over. "Why?"

"Because then I don't knock your leg," Wilson replied as he climbed into the bed. It was a tight fit but if they curled up together in the same way they had the last couple of nights they would be fine.

"Ah," House said absently, his forehead creased as though he was trying to remember something. Suddenly his face cleared and he shifted around so that he was draped over Wilson, his bad leg resting on top of Wilson's.

"I see you _are_ starting to remember some things," Wilson said with wry amusement and he wrapped his arms around House with a relieved sigh.

"Sort of," House grumbled, burying his face into Wilson's neck.

"Impressions again?" Wilson asked.

"Something like that," House agreed as his exhaustion claimed him.

Wilson lay awake a bit longer, his thoughts chasing themselves around his mind. House without his memories was a…different man. Calmer, more introverted, easier to deal with. But Wilson found he preferred the old, snarky, sarcastic House.

"Dr Wilson?"

Wilson looked over to see the admitting doctor…his name was Carson, Wilson suddenly recalled…looking at he and House with surprise and sudden understanding.

"You got him to sleep," Dr Carson said with mild surprise. "Good. He probably needs it more than anything else."

"What did the tests tell you?" Wilson asked urgently.

Carson sighed and sat down in Wilson's abandoned chair. "Not much. We checked again; there's no obvious brain trauma though how he managed to avoid that considering what happened is beyond me. And there's no immediately obvious reason as to why he has amnesia."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Wilson demanded, trying to keep his voice down and his body relaxed so as not to wake House.

"Wait," Carson said simply. "There's nothing else we can do." He paused then gestured delicately to the two men in the bed. "Obviously he's remembered _some_ things. That's a good sign and it means he's got a good chance of getting all of his memories back." The doctor got to his feet and gave Wilson a kind smile. "Look, get some sleep. There's nothing more you can for now and you look almost as bad as he does."

"Thanks," Wilson said dryly as Carson left the room.

He took the other doctor's advice though and settled down as best as he could with House lying half on top of him and let sleep overcome him.

When woke the next morning, it was to find House watching him with veiled amusement.

"The nurses apparently think we're _cute_ together," he said with a quirk of a smile.

"They do?" Wilson said, still a little sleep-confused.

"Yeah," House replied. "Tell me, does my face look as bad as it feels?"

Wilson chuckled. "Yeah, it does actually."

"Great," House grumbled. "What happened to my bike?"

Wilson sat upright abruptly and stared at the lounging House. "You _remember_?"

"Mostly," House replied. "Things seem to be coming back in fits and starts. Think I remember the important stuff though."

Wilson collapsed back on the bed in relief. "You do?"

"Yeah," House said, his mood suddenly shifting. "Like this."

He leaned over and kissed Wilson fiercely, almost possessively. Wilson moaned and wrapped his hand around the back of House's neck, pulling him down on top of him.

The sound of a throat being cleared broke them apart with a start and they turned to see an openly amused Dr Carson standing in the doorway.

"You must be feeling better then, Dr House?" Carson said blandly as his eyes sparkled with inward laughter. "How's the memory?"

"Better," House growled.

"Good. I hoped it would just be a temporary result of the accident," Carson replied. "You knocked your head around fairly solidly. Just as well you were wearing the helmet."

"When can I go home?" House asked immediately.

"Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Light-headed?" Carson asked and House shook his head to all three. "Well then, presuming you've got someone to take you home and stay with you for a few days then I see no reason not to let you go home today. You're a very lucky man. You don't have any broken bones or anything though I would ask that if you _start_ to feel unwell, you'll be smart enough to come back in."

"He will," Wilson said firmly.

"Good," Carson said, looking like he was trying to suppress his laughter again. "I'll go and get the paperwork organised."

The doctor walked out of the room and they heard his laughter float back in behind him.

"Well, at least he didn't laugh in our faces," Wilson said philosophically as he slid out from underneath House.

"Where are you going?" House said, making a grab for him then hissing with pain as he shifted his leg the wrong way.

"I'm going to speak to Cuddy and get some time off then I'm going to go and let your team know you haven't killed yourself," Wilson said as he sat down and put his shoes on. "Then I'm going to come back here and take you home." He paused and gave House a warm smile. "I'm sure your memory will tell you what I'm likely to do when we get there."

House grinned. "Yeah, there's enough of it there to remember that much."

"Good," Wilson said as he stood up. "Then we'll see how much of the rest of it we can bring back."

He shot one final heated look at House and walked out of the room. He felt a lightness that he had thought might be gone last night. House might not have _all_ of his memories back yet but he had enough to be back to what passed for normal and that was all Wilson asked for.


	69. Water

**051. Water**

Buoyancy

Wilson stood in the doorway of the swim centre's main building and looked out in bemusement at the flood-lit outdoor pool. It was nearly one in the morning and floating on his back amongst the mist tendrils rising from the heated water was House. He'd gotten back to House's apartment that night to find the place deserted and a note on the table saying that House was at this pool if he was needed. Wilson had been curious enough both at the content of the note and the terse nature of it to drive down here; he'd known that House had been a good swimmer before the infarction but he hadn't been aware that he'd been anywhere _near_ a pool since then. House disliked anyone, even he and Cuddy, seeing his ruined leg.

He arrived at the swim centre to find that not only was it deserted but it was also _definitely_ after hours. Yet in spite of that, when he'd knocked on the door and told the man who answered his name, he'd been let in immediately.

"He's out the back," the man had said with a jerk of his head. "He said you might come."

The man had immediately walked away, returning to whatever task he'd been doing at this hour of the night, and Wilson had walked slowly out to where he was now standing. He'd been surprised to find that the normal tang of chlorine was muted in comparison to other pools he'd been to and it was a sign near the side of the pool that answered that question along with the one of why House was here in the first place. Salt water heated pool. The buoyancy that salt water provided would be a real boon for House.

Wilson pushed himself away from the door jamb and carefully walked along the side of the pool until he came level with House. He then crouched down and debated whether to disturb his friend. House was floating with his eyes closed and the most serene expression Wilson had ever seen on his face with only the soft slurry of the water lapping at the edge of the pool breaking the silence. He looked contemplative and relaxed and Wilson wasn't surprised to feel something lurch inside his chest.

"Come on in, the water's fine," House said suddenly, his voice sounding oddly gravelly.

Wilson gave a small start then smiled. "I didn't bring my bathing suit."

"So? Neither did I," House replied.

Wilson looked at House and realised that he wasn't actually wearing a bathing suit. He was wearing a pair of long shorts that covered his legs down to the tops of his knees, hiding the scar that he hated.

"Well, I'm not swimming naked," Wilson said lightly.

House was silent for a moment, his eyes still closed. "Pity," he said in a tone that made Wilson frown; he wasn't sure if House was joking or genuine. "Wear your boxers."

Wilson was about to object then he realised he actually didn't want to. He stood and looked around; House's cane, a towel and the rest of his clothes were resting on a small stool right near the steps at the shallow end. He walked over and stripped off his own clothes until he was just wearing his boxers, placing them on top of House's then he slowly waded into the pool via the steps. The water was warmer than he'd thought, probably somewhere just below body temperature and it felt wonderful in comparison to the cool night air. He slowly swam over to where House was floating then stood, finding that the water came up to the middle of his chest.

"You're right, the water's great," he said quietly.

House finally opened his eyes and Wilson swallowed hard when he saw the languid pleasure in them. That was another thing he hadn't seen since the infarction and once again something in his chest lurched. He was happy to see House like this but some quiet part of himself wished _he'd_ been responsible for this small happiness.

"I didn't know you did this," he said to cover his confusion.

"Daniel's a former patient," House replied and Wilson assumed Daniel must be the man who'd let him in. "Can't swim anymore but this feels good."

"I'm glad," Wilson replied somewhat lamely.

The languid pleasure in House's eyes changed to something that Wilson couldn't quite put a finger on; something more curious, more aware, even slightly joyous. House reached out with one hand and his fingers briefly brushed Wilson's chest.

Wilson sucked in a sharp breath at the contact then closed his eyes and inwardly cursed himself. He'd been aware of his attraction to his friend for years but had always managed to successfully contain it; House had been with Stacy, _he'd_ been married then the infarction had occurred and House had seemed to end up somewhere remote and untouchable. But since he'd been staying at House's place after leaving Julie, he'd been finding it harder and harder to keep his desires in check. He had no idea what House was doing right now but he was almost afraid to find out; what if it _wasn't_ what he wanted?

The fingers brushed his chest again then once again, lower this time, against his stomach. Wilson let out the breath he'd taken in a shuddering sigh. He felt oddly vulnerable standing here half-naked in the water.

"Open your eyes, Jimmy."

House's voice was low and gruff and Wilson did as he asked. House was watching him with languorous intent and when their eyes met, he deliberately brushed Wilson's chest again.

"Come here," House said, his voice still gruff but for the first time showing some of his own insecurities.

Wilson moved closer, the water rippling around House's floating form. When he was close enough, House wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled himself into a standing position. They were standing close together now; not quite fully touching, not quite separate. Wilson could feel the warmth of House's body, the warmth of the water, smell the salt and the chlorine. He looked at House and felt tears well; for once, for the first time in far too long, there were no walls or masks or barriers shielding the face that was looking back at him and he saw something there that he wanted to see, longed to see.

House smiled, seemingly having read his mind, then leaned forward and brushed his lips against Wilson's. He did it again and then a third time before Wilson snaked a hand around his neck and pulled him forward. The kiss was hard and wanting, filled with things unsaid, and when it ended House rested his forehead against his own.

"Let's go home."

Wilson closed his eyes and smiled. "Yes."


	70. Fire

**052. Fire**

Burning Embers

Wilson stood frozen in the street as he stared at the charred remains of the building in front of him. The fire was out now and water dripped everywhere as fire-fighters picked their way through the blackened rubble. He could see the remains of the piano and the chairs where they both so often sat and talked about complete rubbish. He could see collapsed bookshelves and charred and water-logged books. He could see through into the bedroom and the remains of the bed where just the night before he and House had had sex for the first time.

"Sir?"

The voice and the accompanying hand on his shoulder startled him and his head whipped around to see a fire-fighter standing there, looking tired and worn.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Wh…what happened?" he stammered.

"Do you know the man who lived here?" the fire-fighter asked carefully.

"I…I live here," Wilson said, his voice starting to fail as the reality dawned on him. "I…I've been staying with House."

The fire-fighter caught him when he swayed and hustled him over to one of the fire trucks, sitting him down on the rear bumper and draping a blanket over his shoulders.

"The fire started in the kitchen from what we can tell," the fire-fighter said with brusque compassion. "The electric kettle shorted out and probably burst into flames."

"It…it had been making odd noises," Wilson said, his voice distant and shocked.

"That's usually a sign you should replace it," the fire-fighter replied. "Sir, is there anyone we can call for you? A relative or a friend perhaps?"

"Uh, I…I don't…" Wilson's voice trailed off weakly.

"It's just they've taken your housemate to the hospital and I'm sure you'll want to follow but I don't think you should drive right now," the fire-fighter continued.

It took a few moments for the man's words to sink in the Wilson's head shot up.

"House is alive?" he demanded.

"Your friend's name is House?" the fire-fighter asked. When Wilson nodded he continued. "Yeah, he's alive. We pulled him out of the bedroom. He was lying next to the bed. He's suffering from smoke inhalation and he's been burnt but I don't think it's too bad. The paramedics said they were taking him to Princeton-Plainsboro since it's the closest."

Wilson shot to his feet, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and the fire-fighter quickly grabbed him.

"I…I need to get there," Wilson said firmly, trying to shake off the other man's hands.

"I know," the fire-fighter said patiently. "But I don't think you're in any condition to drive. Can I call someone for you?"

"No…No, I will," Wilson said absently as he fumbled for his cell phone.

He quickly dialled Cuddy's number as the fire-fighter let him go but watched warily. When Cuddy answered he managed to stammer out something coherent or at least coherent enough for her to understand. She assured him she'd be there as soon as possible then hung up.

"Someone's coming?" the fire-fighter asked.

Wilson nodded, unable to form any more words.

"Good. I've got to get back to work. Will you be okay?"

Wilson nodded again and the fire-fighter patted him on the shoulder before heading back towards the burnt-out shell. Wilson sat in a daze until Cuddy's face came into his line of sight.

"James?" she said softly as she stood in front of him. She looked horrified and concerned.

"I need…can you drive me to the hospital?" Wilson said in a choked voice. "He's there."

Cuddy glanced over at the ruins of the apartment. "House is _alive_? He survived that?" She took a deep breath. "Which hospital?"

"Ours," Wilson replied.

Cuddy just nodded and took his arm, leading him over to her car and getting him into the passenger seat. She then hurried around to the other side of the car and got in herself. She took off as quickly as she could and Wilson was fairly sure she broke a few speed limits getting to the hospital. He was out of the car the moment it stopped, hurrying into the ER with Cuddy at his heels. He came to a halt once inside, looking around frantically then starting when Cuddy placed a hand on his arm.

"I'll find out where he is," she said calmly before walking over to the nearest nurse and asking a few quiet questions.

The nurse answered then pointed down towards the end of the ER and Wilson took off immediately. He got to the curtained off area the nurse had indicated and slid past the barriers. His knees nearly went out from underneath him when he saw House lying asleep on the bed, bandages on his face and hands and an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and he staggered towards the nearest chair. He collapsed into it and buried his face in his hands with a hoarse sob.

Once again he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Cuddy crouched next to him.

"He's going to be fine," she said soothingly. "He breathed in a bit of smoke but the burns are minor, first degree only. They're going to admit him for tonight but he should be released tomorrow."

Wilson relaxed at the news then he gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"Released to go _where_? Where are we going to go? Julie's getting the house. I was staying with him. We've lost everything."

Cuddy nodded once. "We'll…sort something out. Look, you need a place to stay tonight. I have a spare room you can use."

Wilson shook his head firmly. "No. I'm staying here with House."

Cuddy didn't look surprised. "Okay."

Wilson immediately shifted his chair forward until it was next to the bed and he took House's hand in his own. He then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the sleeping man's lips, not realising that Cuddy hadn't left yet.

She watched this obvious sign of affection, her jaw dropping silently. There had been rumours about the two men doing the rounds for years but she'd never believed them. House had always seemed too closed off, too defensive to allow anyone that close to him. But obviously Wilson had found a way through the walls. She smiled softly then carefully eased her way out of the vicinity. She didn't know how long it had been going on nor did she really care as long as it worked for them…though it certainly explained Wilson's reaction when she'd arrived at House's destroyed apartment tonight. She walked back towards the front desk to speak to House's doctor and made a decision. She'd offered a room to Wilson tonight; if the two men couldn't find anywhere else appropriate to stay tomorrow she'd offer the room to both of them…and then hope like hell Wilson could be a calming influence. It probably wouldn't look good if she murdered House in the night…


	71. Earth

**Warning: Character Death**

* * *

**053. Earth**

Goodbye

House tossed the handful of earth into the grave, listening to it spatter onto the coffin. He stood there for a moment, his face sombre and lined, then he slowly turned and limped away, ignoring the other people standing around. He limped through the graveyard, coming close to stumbling on the uneven ground on occasion until he was far away from the newly-filled grave then he stopped and leaned heavily on his cane. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his own breathing and he tried to make his thought connect.

A hand resting on his arm made his eyes fly open and he turned his head just enough to see who it was then he hung his head.

"I didn't see it," he said softly.

"No one did," came the reply.

"I _should_ have seen it."

"We _all_ should have seen it. We're doctors. We should notice these things. That's if there was even anything there to see. You know it doesn't always happen that way."

"How do you deal with it?"

A soft chuckle. "Badly. Mostly I just come to you. You make it better."

"I don't know how to this time."

"You don't have to." A pause. "Come back and say goodbye."

House grimaced then slowly turned and limped back towards the grave. By the time he got back there, everyone else had left and he stood next to the grave with a look of regret. He then looked over at the headstone.

_Alison Cameron_

_Daughter, Wife, Doctor_

_A caring heart, a caring soul_

"I couldn't be what she wanted."

"I know," Wilson said softly as he wrapped an arm around his lover's waist.

House leaned back into him slightly then sighed as Wilson rested his chin on his shoulder. He looked down at the grave again.

"Goodbye, Alison," he said simply.


	72. Air

**054. Air**

Mine

The air in the room was thick with tension as Wilson stared challengingly at House. He didn't move, he didn't say another word; he merely waited for House's response to see whether he stayed for good or walked out and found a hotel to stay at until he could get a place of his own.

House stared back for a minute or two to see if he would back down but when he didn't, House's eyes dropped and he stared at the floor. Wilson still waited calmly. That wasn't a rejection; that was House realising he was serious.

But when the minutes of silence started to stretch and the air in the room got thicker and heavier, Wilson started to feel apprehensive. Finally he could take it no longer. He wanted House to make a decision, to _say_ something. But this non-decision was apparently all he was going to get.

He let out a quiet, resigned sigh and got to his feet, refusing to look at House. He walked over to the suitcase he'd left at the door and looked down at it with something akin to defeat. He was just about to lean over and pick it up when he heard the step-thump of House's footsteps. He straightened and started to turn then he found himself grabbed by the arm and shoved against the wall, House pressing up against him solidly as his cane clattered to the ground.

"Mine," House growled as he attacked Wilson's mouth with his own before pulling away and biting, licking, kissing his way along Wilson's jaw.

"Mine," House growled again as he yanked Wilson's shirt out of his trouser and ran one hand up the warm skin underneath.

"_Mine_," House growled for a third time as he slid his other hand into Wilson's trouser and wrapped it around his hardening cock.

Wilson moaned under the sudden, very welcome assault and his head fell back against the wall with a light thunk as he gasped for air. His hips bucked forward and he grabbed at House's shirt with both hands, pulling him closer. He then grabbed House's wrists and pulled his hands away, turning them so that it was House that was pressed against the wall.

"Mine," he whispered as he kissed House ardently and pressed his hands against the wall before moving to kiss along House's neck to where the stubble ended and soft skin began.

"Mine," he said softly as he slid his hands under House's t-shirt and ran his fingernails over his nipples, smiling as the soft curse he garnered from that action.

"Mine," he said in a normal tone of voice, looking into House's eyes before leaning in to kiss him again.

The kiss swiftly moved from gentle to passionate to fierce and when they finally broke apart, they were both gasping for air.

"Stay," House said as his forehead came to rest on Wilson's shoulder.

"Yes," Wilson replied with a smile.


	73. Rain

**066. Rain**

Rivulets

House raised his face towards the sky with his eyes closed, letting the rain drench him. A small smile graced his lips as he set his cane in front of him and wrapped both hands around the handle. The rain was warm and heavy, a summer storm coming after a hot, stifling day and he embraced it as best as he could.

"Dr House?" came Cameron's hesitant voice from behind him.

He ignored her as he concentrated on the sensation of the rain drops running down his face and into his stubble. He was fairly sure she went away as he heard the door close.

He breathed deeply as the rain soaked his hair, his clothes, his skin and his smile broadened slightly.

"Greg?" came the soft, slightly amused voice from the doorway.

He turned his head and opened his eyes to see Wilson standing in the door, watching him with humour sparking in his eyes.

"Come here," House said, unwrapping one hand from his cane and holding it out.

Wilson stared down at his hand then back up. "I'll get wet," he said in amused protest.

House let his eyes run appreciatively down Wilson's body. "Good."

Wilson blushed and laughed. "I'll get cold," he said suggestively.

House raised an eyebrow and leered amusingly. "I'll warm you up."

Wilson pretended to consider that. "Your ducklings are watching us."

House smirked and his eyes glittered. "Let 'em watch."

Wilson gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment then he smiled. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it in the direction of House's desk along with his tie then he stepped out onto the balcony. The rain had him soaked through before he got to House, his hair plastering itself across his forehead and his shirt sticking to his chest invitingly.

House watched him approach with growing anticipation, carefully turning to face him. When Wilson stopped in front of him, he looked into the younger man's eyes for a long moment before leaning in and kissing him, tasting the rain and coffee and Wilson.

It was the only point of contact between the two men until Wilson took a step closer and placed his hand on House's hips. House responded by wrapping one arm around Wilson's waist and placing his other hand at the back of Wilson's neck, deepening the kiss as the rain continued to fall.

The kiss came to an end and they separated only far enough to draw breath. Out of the corner of his eye, House could see Cameron and Chase and Foreman standing in front of the glass wall between the conference room and his office, staring at them, and he smiled. Wilson returned the smile before drawing him back into another kiss.

They stood there in the rain and kissed as the water ran in rivulets down their faces.


	74. She

**Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to prompt #085. He - they're out of order because I thought they sat better this way.**

* * *

**085. She**

Melancholy Truth

She came back.

He was surprised that his heart leapt the way it did when he saw her standing in the clinic and for one brief moment he thought she had come back for him. Then he saw what was in her hand. Scans and X-rays, files and papers. No, she hadn't come back for him. She wouldn't have _those_ things in her hands if she had. She'd come _to_ him…for help. For her husband.

He was surprised at the pain that caused. Hadn't she already caused him enough pain? Why did she have to come and cause more? But in the end he couldn't refuse her.

He wanted to love her…he did in some way. But not a good way. And she still loved him. But not in a good way. So they circled each other, taunted, teased, bantered, poked, prodded…until they ended up in his bed…again. He loved her that night. The action, not the feeling. He loved her but he didn't love her. He loved her but he hated her. He loved her but he let her go, sent her away, gave her up. To her husband.

And now she was gone. For good. Was that good? He loved her but he couldn't love her. She had once owned his heart, his soul, his body…his trust. But she'd broken them all. Left him in pieces, in pain. He loved her but he couldn't trust her. And she knew that.

So she left.


	75. He

**Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to prompt #085. She - they're out of order because they worked better this way. It should hopefully be fairly easy to work who the 'he' is referring to in this one except for the last three sentences - you can take those any way you like. grins**

* * *

**084. He**

Melancholy Hope

He stayed.

He stayed and he picked up the pieces…twice. House didn't know why he stayed, what reason he had for putting up with everything, with the sarcasm and the cruelty he was occasionally capable of, with the moods, with the smug superiority…but he stayed. And he smiled and he bantered and he admonished and he worried. That annoyed House on occasion but he accepted it from him as he would accept it from no one else.

Now he was standing there in the doorway, suitcase at his feet, an odd anguish on his face, asking for a place to stay, an ear to listen…a piece of his heart?

He almost sent him away. Sympathy was not his forte, compassion was not his way…risking himself was not what he did anymore. But then he smiled wryly, painfully and he let him in.

Because he had stayed.

Because he cared.

Because he _loved_.


	76. Birthday

**Author's Notes: This one is a rated M fic for smutty mcsmut.**

* * *

**091. Birthday**

The Present

"Happy birthday."

House looked up from his Gameboy and gave Wilson a flat look. "Is it?" he said in a warning tone.

Wilson's lips twitched as he let the door close behind him. "Of course it is and I suddenly realised I hadn't got you a present."

House turned his attention back to his game. "Good. Though if you insist on going all out, you can pay for dinner tonight."

The click of the door locking and the sound of the blinds being drawn had House looking up from his game in surprise.

"Nope," Wilson said as he finished closing the blinds. "I had something else planned."

House was now intrigued enough to toss the Gameboy on his desk. He eyed Wilson curiously.

"What precisely did you have in mind?"

Wilson didn't answer and House's eyes widened slightly as the oncologist took his lab coat off then pulled off his tie. He draped both over the back of the chair he normally sat in then walked purposefully around the other side of the desk. Before House could say anything, Wilson had dropped to his knees and placed one hand on House's jeans right over his dick. House closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of Wilson's hand seep through the denim and his dick hardened with gratifying speed.

"James?" he said hoarsely.

"Shut up," Wilson replied as he unzipped House's jeans and wrapped one hand around his cock.

The sudden wet warmth that surrounded his erection had House doing just that though he was sure Wilson wouldn't hold the moan against him. One hand tightened around the arm of his chair while the other dropped down to bury itself gently in Wilson's hair. He whimpered when Wilson ran his tongue up the underside of his of his cock and let out a whispered "Fuck, Jimmy" when Wilson increased both his suction and speed. It was when Wilson started humming that he finally came, his hips jerking and his hand tightening in Wilson's hair briefly.

House slumped slightly in his chair as he tried to get his breath back, his hand gentling and stroking Wilson's hair. He felt Wilson tidy him up and tuck him away then he opened his eyes. Wilson was still kneeling in front of him, resting one elbow on his good thigh. He had a smile on his face and his eyes were full of smug amusement. House let the hand that was still buried in Wilson's hair drift down to stroke his cheek, feeling something clench inside his chest when Wilson leaned into the gentle caress.

"Did you like your birthday present?" Wilson asked quietly.

"Loved it," House replied.


	77. Broken

**071. Broken**

Toe to Toe

"I think it's broken," Wilson said thoughtfully.

"Gee, it took all of those years of medical school to come to that conclusion?" House growled. "I already knew it was broken. I want you to fix it."

Wilson looked exasperated. "House, there's not much I can do about a broken toe. You know that. It'll just have to heal by itself."

"But it hurts," House whined.

"I think you already have a solution to that," Wilson said dryly.

"It'll heal all wonky," House added petulantly.

Wilson looked down at the bare foot that had been planted in his lap. "You can tell the difference?" he said mildly.

House actually looked hurt at that. "I have excellent feet, thank you very much."

"If you say so," Wilson said dubiously. "You can put your shoe back on now."

"Aren't you going to kiss it better?" House asked slyly.

"I'm not kissing your manky foot," Wilson said with amused disgust.

"You could kiss something else," House said with a leer.

"Yes, I could," Wilson agreed. "But we promised not to do anything like that at work."

House held up one finger. "Uh-uh, _you_ promised. I wasn't that stupid."

"Exactly," Wilson said, shoving House's foot to the floor. "_I_ promised therefore no kissing."

House pouted. "You're no fun."

"That's not what you said last night," Wilson said blandly as he got to his feet.

"I was clearly deluded," House replied as he reached out and ran on swift hand down the front of Wilson's trousers.

Wilson sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back out of House's reach. "Stop that!"

"Why?" House said with a smirk. "My toe hurts and since you won't do anything about it, I think you have a duty to distract me from the pain."

"Not at work," Wilson said firmly then he turned and very quickly strode out of the exam room.

House watched him go with a grin. He'd come so _close_ that time to getting Wilson to relent on his ridiculous promise. He gingerly reached down for his discarded sock and shoe; he'd have to come up with something better next time. Maybe if he took his jeans off it would work? It might just be worth the hassle…


	78. Breakfast

**056. Breakfast**

The Most Important Meal of The Day

Breakfast was rapidly becoming House's favourite meal of the day. For a long time he'd barely eaten breakfast; maybe a piece of toast or an apple but usually nothing more than that. Something grabbed on the run…so to speak…as he left for the hospital. Between the way his leg ached in the morning and the time it took for the Vicodin to kick in, he rarely had much of an appetite until about lunchtime at the earliest.

But now it was different. Now he woke up to hear Wilson puttering around in the kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee in the air. By the time he'd limped out, having showered and dressed, there would be a cup of that coffee waiting for him and Wilson would be sitting at the small table, hoeing into a bowlful of cereal with a glass of juice in front of him. Somehow the pain never seemed as bad these days, the Vicodin seemed to kick in quicker. He had an appetite. So he'd sit down at the table, pour himself a bowl of Wilson's cereal, add some of Wilson's milk and start eating, grinning at Wilson's mild complaints and getting his hand slapped when he reached over to steal Wilson's juice.

For once he believed what he'd learnt so long ago in med school; breakfast really _was_ the most important meal of the day.


	79. Lunch

**057. Lunch**

Tell Me

It was almost a week before anyone noticed that House wasn't eating lunch. Not surprisingly it was Cameron who noticed; Wilson had simply assumed that House was busy with his current patient and, being too wrapped up for the moment in his own problems, had not delved any further and neither Chase nor Foreman took that much interest in House's eating patterns. When she'd confronted him about it, he'd sneered at her and dismissed her concerns out of hand. Cameron had been annoyed at that but time and experience had taught her that the best idea now was to sit and wait. House would do one of two things; either he'd start eating lunch again to prove her wrong or…he wouldn't and now that she was watching she might be able to figure out what was wrong.

Another week passed and Cameron discovered two things. One, House _wasn't_ eating lunch and two, she wasn't sure exactly how much he was eating period. He was looking thin and drawn and his clothes were starting to hang on him. He was spending most of his time in his office, poring over medical books and letting them deal with their patient. She debated for a moment confronting House again but then decided that maybe the 'softly, softly' approach might work better. So she went to see Wilson.

The oncologist was deep in paperwork when she knocked on the door but he seemed relieved for a reason to stop and waved her in.

"Allison, how can I help you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Is there something wrong with House?" she asked carefully as she sat down. "I know you've been staying with him. I was hoping you'd noticed."

Wilson blinked. "I'm…not sure what you mean."

Now it was Cameron's turn to blink. "He's…thin," she said with surprise. "Far too thin and he certainly hasn't been eating lunch. He looks like he hasn't been eating much at all. You haven't noticed?"

Wilson frowned and mentally ran through the last couple of weeks. He'd been wrapped up in dealing with the divorce from Julie and had gotten back to House's place late most nights. There'd usually been take-away of some description left on the table but now that he thought about it, it didn't really look like House had eaten much. And now House's lack of filching at lunch took a bit more significance.

"You're right," he said slowly. "And I think he's been hiding it from me. And I've been too wrapped up in my own problems to notice." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Leave it to me, Allison."

Cameron smiled with relief and got to her feet. "Thank you, Dr Wilson."

Wilson watched her go with a sense of chagrin, mentally kicking himself for not noticing what was happening. He quickly tidied up his paperwork then ambled next door, wandering in and sitting down in his usual chair. Now that he was paying attention he could see that House was definitely looking unwell. The older man looked thin and tired and he was reading a medical text.

"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal Wilson," House said with a distinct lack of his usual sarcasm.

Wilson considered his method of attack for a moment then mentally shrugged, deciding on a frontal assault.

"What's wrong? You look like crap."

House smirked. "That's just as well. I feel like crap."

Wilson's eyebrows went up at that admission. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You've got enough on your plate right now," House said dismissively.

Wilson felt something inside warm slightly at that then exasperation took over.

"Why is it that the only time you show compassion to me is when there's something genuinely wrong with you?" he snapped. "Christ, House! Why didn't you go to one of your team?"

"Them?" House said with distinct sneer. "They can't even diagnose our current patient. Why should I trust them with me?"

Wilson swallowed his automatic response then gestured to the books spread around the room.

"You've obviously been looking for yourself. What are the symptoms?"

House scowled at him before admitting reluctantly, "Diarrhoea, gastrointestinal problems, weakness and loss of appetite."

"That's…general," Wilson said with a frown. "What tests have you run?"

"None," House said, turning back to his book. "Not much point running tests until I have some idea what's wrong."

"House!" Wilson said. "Dammit! If this was one of your patients you'd have run them through a gamut of tests."

Wilson got to his feet and walked over to the door to the conference room, pausing with one hand on the handle.

"Tell them and get them to help you work it out or I'll have you admitted and they can do it anyway without your input," he said firmly.

House glared at him. "Why?"

Wilson sighed and glared right back. "Because this is ridiculous. You're _sick_, House. Stop being so damn stubborn and let them help."

House glared at him for a moment longer and Wilson wondered whether he really _would_ have to make good on his threat. Finally House got to his feet and limped over to the door. Wilson held it open for him and they walked out into the conference room.

"You've got a new patient," Wilson announced as House leaned against the bench and scowled.

Cameron glanced over at House and managed to look both relieved and concerned. Foreman looked curious while Chase looked slightly confused at Wilson taking the lead.

"Who?" Foreman asked and Wilson could almost _hear_ House sneer at the side of the room.

"House," Wilson replied and Foreman looked over at House with an appraising look. House snarled back at him but that only made the neurologist look mildly amused.

"What's wrong?" Foreman asked of Wilson.

"Loss of appetite, weakness, diarrhoea, gastrointestinal upset," Wilson listed and the three young doctors frowned.

"Nothing else?" Foreman asked.

"If there is, I'll be sure to tell you," House snapped.

"Hey, you're the one who says everyone lies," Foreman said mildly though clearly enjoying throwing House's words back in his face. "I presume you include yourself in that 'everyone'."

"Let's get back on the point," Wilson said before House could reply.

House settled back with an air of general disgruntlement as the three young doctors began to throw around ideas. After nearly half an hour they came to an agreement on the tests they _wanted_ to run and those House would _let_ them run and Wilson took him off to get the samples they would need.

"_You_ are a stubborn ass who almost deserves to get sick," Wilson said in a conversational tone as he drew blood.

House mocked a shocked gasp. "Is that _St Wilson_ speaking?"

"Greg," Wilson said in something close to a growl. "When precisely were you planning on telling someone about this? When you finally collapsed?"

House shrugged as he watched his blood flow into the small vial. "I was going to tell you but you were…distracted."

Wilson sighed. "House," he said helplessly. "Some things are more important."

House looked uncomfortable and Wilson let the matter drop, finishing what he was doing and taking the samples back to House's team.

When they got the results back it turned out that Cameron had made the correct diagnosis. The tests indicated that House had a parasitical infection, specifically _Hymenolepis nana_. When Chase read out the information they had on the parasite which included the fact that rats often carry the parasite, Wilson gave House a hard look.

"Steve McQueen goes," he said firmly. "It's a wonder we're _both_ not sick."

House grumbled and argued but Wilson stood his ground.

"Fine," House finally growled. "But _you_ get to take him to the vet, just so he knows who's condemning him to death."

Wilson rolled his eyes and agreed, mostly just to shut House up and ordered the treatment House needed. Once that was done they both settled back into House's office and Wilson gave House a long look.

"Will you promise me that next time something like this happens, you'll _tell_ me?" Wilson said quietly. "You know I've always got time for you."

House nodded then smirked. "Of course you do, you live with me."

Wilson rolled his eyes then smiled. He might have couched it in a joke but House had agreed.


	80. Dinner

**058. Dinner**

What's For Dessert?

House limped into the kitchen and stared at Wilson with suspicion.

"What's going on?"

"Dinner," Wilson replied absently as he stirred something in a large pot.

"Okay," House replied. "Why?"

Wilson gave him a quick, curious look. "Why am I cooking dinner? Why wouldn't I?"

"It wasn't a prerequisite when I let you stay here," House said.

Wilson's eyes narrowed and he turned around completely to look at House. "You'd prefer take away to a proper cooked meal?" he said dubiously.

House looked uncertain for a fraction of a second then his face returned to its normal slightly sardonic expression.

"Less to clean up," he said blandly. "I don't do dishes very well these days."

Wilson gave him a flat look. "Unless they're _Stacy's_ and you think there might be sex in it for you."

Wilson was surprised to see House actually flinch at that. It wasn't much of a flinch but if you knew what you were looking for, it was there. He rallied well though and leered ridiculously at Wilson.

"So if I wash your dishes, will I get sex?" he said suggestively.

Wilson spent about five seconds contemplating his response and decided to amuse himself.

"Sure but I'm not taking my husband and leaving afterwards," he said flippantly as he turned back to the stove.

"Deal," House said in an odd tone of voice. "I'll do it tonight."


	81. Storm

**070. Storm**

Without Words

Outside the apartment, the storm sat sullenly over the city. The rain pounded down, interspersed with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning. The temperature was chilly and the weather was threatening to worsen.

Inside the apartment, it was warm and cozy. In the living room, a single lamp was on, illuminating the silent piano and the discarded beer bottles on the low coffee table. It also illuminated the sofa and the empty blankets that lay on it.

A single light was also on in the bedroom, giving a low amber light that shone across the two men who lay naked on the bed.

Wilson lay on his back and stared at House through half-lidded, sated eyes. The last thing House had said to him was his name – "James" – said in such tones of half-hidden longing and despair that he'd been standing almost before he'd known what was happening. When he'd walked over from the sofa to stand in front of House, the older man hand raised his free hand and gently brushed his fingers along his cheek and Wilson had been lost.

House hadn't said a word since then but he hadn't needed to. His hands had said everything that needed to be said.

They'd said 'I want you' when they'd fumbled with Wilson's clothes, pulling them off.

They asked 'Do you want me?' with the hesitant brush against his face.

They responded with delighted caresses at Wilson's affirmative.

They said 'I need you' as they touched and held and pulled and stroked.

And now, as they both lay sated and sleepy and the storm thundered and raged outside, those hands caressed and gentled and said what House would never say out loud…they said 'I love you'.


	82. Home

**090. Home**

A House Can Be A Home

Wilson didn't quite know when he'd stopped thinking of House's apartment as just a place to stay while he sorted out his life and started thinking of it as home. He couldn't put his finger on a precise date or time. He sometimes thought it was when House had erased the message on the answering machine.

He'd been angry at first…well, more annoyed really since he rarely got truly angry at House these days. But the annoyance had faded when the implications of that act hit home. He'd assumed House wanted him out as soon as possible but if that were true then why would he delete the message that would enable that to happen? The only logical reason is that House wanted him to stay but, being House, wasn't about to actually _say_ that. So he'd resorted to typical Houseian tactics…thus the deleted message.

That had perhaps been the moment when he'd first starting _thinking_ of House's apartment as home but he knew when it had actually _become_ home.

Because it's hard for a place to _be_ a home when you're still sleeping on the couch.

Wilson propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at the sleeping man illuminated in the early morning light.

This place had _become_ home the night he moved from the couch into House's bed.


	83. Snow

**067. Snow**

Cold Moves

"Dr Wilson?"

Wilson looked up from the paperwork he'd been deep into and saw a rather worried Cameron standing in the doorway.

"Dr Wilson, it's House," she said in a rush before he could say anything.

Wilson sighed and put his pen down. "What's he done now?"

"Um, nothing really," Cameron replied, shifting from foot to foot. She continued in a rush. "I…he told us not to bother him but…he's sitting out on the balcony and it's snowing."

Wilson blinked as he sorted through that then he stood in a hurry. "He's _what_?"

He didn't wait for Cameron to respond but looked out the glass door to the balcony he shared with House. Sure enough, the man was sitting outside in the snow in nothing more than jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket.

"Dammit," Wilson muttered under his breath before turning to face Cameron. "What's happened?"

Cameron's eyes dropped to the floor and she sighed. "Our patient's dying. We can't figure what's wrong. He's got maybe two or three hours."

Wilson scrubbed his face with one hand. "Get a blanket and leave it in House's office then get Foreman and Chase out of there."

Cameron hesitated for a moment then nodded and left. Wilson grabbed his heavy coat and headed for House's office. He paused at the balcony door and pulled his coat on before going outside. He walked out and stood next to the chair House was slumped in, staring out over the view.

"Are you completely insane?" he said conversationally.

"Depends who you ask," came the growled reply.

"Why are you sitting out here?" Wilson demanded.

"Because I needed to think and those three were prattling on like the pack of idiots they are," House replied, still in that irritated growl.

"House! It's freezing out here and it's snowing," Wilson yelped.

"I noticed," House said dismissively.

Wilson moved so that was crouching in front of House with one hand resting lightly on House's left knee. House's gaze shifted away then slowly returned and Wilson could see the frustration and the despair in them.

"Patients die," he said softly. "Isn't that what you always tell me?"

"Not mine," House said stubbornly.

Wilson snorted. "Even yours. House…freezing your arse off out here and getting pneumonia isn't going to help anyone, let alone your patient. Come inside."

House gaze slipped away again and he was silent for long enough for Wilson to start feeling the cold through his coat.

"Not sure if I can stand," House finally said, very reluctantly.

"I'll help you," Wilson replied calmly.

He got to his feet and held out both hands to House. The older man hesitated before taking them then Wilson braced himself and pulled. House winced and grunted as he got to his feet then he wavered until Wilson stepped forward and caught him around the waist. House shuddered as the warmth of Wilson's body penetrated the cold that seemed to have taken over his own and he wrapped his arms around Wilson, pulling him close, and buried his face in his hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. Wilson stiffened slightly in surprise then he carefully embraced House, gently rubbing his back with one hand.

After a long moment, House slid one hand up and cupped Wilson's cheek. Wilson looked up at him and House slowly lowered his head until his lips were hovering just over Wilson's, the fog from their breathing mixing between them.

"James," House breathed in a voice that could barely be heard.

"Yes," Wilson replied, knowing House would hear both the affirmation and the permission.

House closed the tiny gap between them. The kiss was soft and almost chaste, his lips cold and chapped against Wilson's warm and soft. When it ended, they both sighed, almost inaudibly, unnoticeable except for the fog that emerged.

"Come inside," Wilson said softly. "You're freezing. You need to warm up."

House smiled. "Yes."


	84. Fixed

**072. Fixed**

Questions

House sometimes wondered if things would have been different if his leg could have been fixed.

Would he and Stacy have lasted? Would they have split up anyway? Or settled down and got married?

Would Wilson's marriage to his second wife have survived? Or would that divorce have been as inevitable as his first and now apparently his third?

Would he still have become so bitter, so misanthropic, so viciously sarcastic? He'd never been a nice man but how much of how he was now was due to the leg?

Would he still be so bafflingly attractive to Cameron if he wasn't broken? If he had no convenient excuse for being a son of a bitch?

Would Wilson be lying in his bed right now, sleeping the sleep of the well-fucked?

He didn't know and for the first time since those myriad of questions had first started running through his mind, he didn't care.


	85. Moon

**045. Moon**

Melody

Wilson slouched on the couch in House's apartment, three sheets to the wind and stuffed full of pizza. His tie was somewhere on the floor behind the couch, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He had his fourth, or possibly fifth, beer in his hand and he was watching House play the piano with the intense concentration of someone who is pretty much drunk but doesn't want anyone to know about it. He took another swallow of beer as House changed tack and started singing.

"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own."

Wilson snorted beer out of his nose at the mocking tone House was using and made a disgusted sound.

"Was that for the song or your intriguing whale impression?" House said with a smirk, the tune he was playing once again shifting.

"Both," Wilson replied as he wiped beer off his face with his hand.

"You wipe that on my couch and I'll be forced to play Britney Spears," House warned him.

"Well, we can't have that," Wilson replied vaguely as he switched direction and wiped his hand on his trousers.

It was House's turn to snort as he reached for his beer with one hand and continued playing random notes with the other. Wilson's head lolled on the back of the couch as he watched House drink and swallow, the motions of the other man's throat making something shift inside.

"I want to kiss you," he said abruptly and had the pleasure of watching House splutter on his beer.

"You _what_?" House said incredulously.

"I want to kiss you," Wilson repeated, sitting up with an effort and putting his beer on the table.

"You mean you're drunk, you're feeling lonely and I'm the only other person in the room," House said with a sneer.

Wilson got rather unsteadily to his feet and walked over to where House was sitting. House had inadvertently returned to playing Blue Moon and Wilson could hear the lyrics running through his mind, _Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for, you heard me saying a prayer for, somebody I really could care for._

He placed his hands on House's shoulders, feeling them tense up at his touch, then he leaned forward so his mouth was a bare inch from House's ear.

"Well, I am drunk," he admitted. "But I'm not that drunk. Or that lonely. And I really, _really_ want to kiss you."

House's hands stuttered to a halt and he sat still and silent. Wilson took that as a good sign; if House was truly pissed at him for making such a suggestion he'd have been out the door already. Which meant House didn't mind the idea, maybe even liked it, maybe even wanted it.

With the melody from Blue Moon still running through his mind, Wilson leaned forward a bit more, resting some of his weight against House and smiling at the sudden indrawn breath that action gained. He let his hands drift down House's chest as he pressed a soft kiss against the side of House's neck. His hands were suddenly caught in a tight grip and he could hear House's breathing quicken.

"_Why_?" came the harsh question.

The lyrics from Blue Moon swirled around in his mind and he smiled again as he leaned in and whispered into House's ear, "Please adore me."

House started and he felt the older man shiver. For a moment, nothing happened then House turned his head and Wilson could see the fear, the mistrust, the hesitation and the curiousity on those blue eyes. He smiled once more then gently pressed his lips against the other man's. House's lips parted with a soft sigh and Wilson took the invitation for what it was, deepening the kiss but keeping it gentle. When they finally parted, he was pleased to see the emotions of before in House's eyes had been replaced with a lazy haze of pleasure and desire and what might be the first hints of happiness.

The piano started again and he chuckled softly. It was still the same song and when House continued to look at him, he knew which verse he was playing.

_Blue moon, now I'm no longer alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own_.


	86. Dark

**074. Dark**

All Of You

House preferred to have sex in the dark. Wilson knew why, of course. He'd felt the scar under his fingers when he'd caressed House's legs, you couldn't miss it really. It stretched nearly the full length of his right thigh and it was raised and bumpy.

And ugly.

There was no denying that. The scar was ugly. And what lay around it was ugly as well. Muscle had been removed in the operation and the thigh had this horrible, unnatural, caved in look to it. Wilson had felt _that_ in the dark too.

He knew House hated what his leg looked like. It was why he _always_ wore trousers or jeans or pants. _Never_ shorts…not anymore. Even on the hottest of summer days House would be wearing trousers. And complaining about the heat. Wilson was the only one who would call him on it, tease him and tell him to stop complaining, that he brought it on himself by wearing trousers. Everyone else would just look away and scuttle out of House's sight. No one wanted to remind him. Something Wilson thought was ridiculous; House was reminded of his leg everyday…when he woke up, when he walked, when he sat down…every moment of every day.

Wilson didn't like having sex in the dark. He liked to be able to _see_ his partner. Which is why he'd turned on the light tonight when he climbed into bed. When House had complained, he'd silenced him with a kiss, then a second kiss when the first didn't work. And he'd ignored the strangled sound and abortive movement House had made when he'd pushed the sheets back to reveal the offending limb, silencing and stilling his lover when he delicately and so lovingly caressed that ugly scar.

When he'd raised his head, he'd found House watching him with a mix of anguish, incredulity and desperation and he'd smiled. House had flinched at that and confusion had entered his mix of emotions. Wilson then caressed the thigh again before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the scar, feeling House shudder underneath him.

He looked up again and saw a single tear slipping from the corner of House's eye. He smiled again and crawled up so that he was lying on top of his lover.

"I love _all_ of you," he said matter-of-factly.

"I can't," House replied shakily.

"I know," Wilson said calmly. "I'll do it for you."

He felt House shudder again then he was being held a fierce embrace. He gently stroked House's face; he knew Stacy had never been able to look at what she had done and that Cuddy only saw her guilt and failure written in that scar. But he knew he could look at House's leg and see past it to the man; broken, twisted and bitter but a man nonetheless. One he loved.


	87. Passing

**065. Passing**

Unexpected

They'd been in the middle of a rousing round of wheel of diagnostics when the phone had rung in House's office. House had tossed the marker he'd been using at Chase and told him to stop sitting on the fence and start acting like a proper doctor then he'd limped into his office to answer the phone.

That had been over twenty minutes ago and it wasn't until the three young doctors had come to a tentative diagnosis amongst themselves that they realised this. They looked around curiously, wondering why House hadn't returned and saw he was sitting frozen behind his desk, looking decidedly stunned.

Cameron got up and opened the door to the office, sticking her head into the office with a tentative, "Dr House? I think we've got it."

He didn't look up; in fact he didn't even seem to hear her.

"Dr House?" she said a little louder.

She got a response this time. House looked up at her, his eyes blank and dazed.

"Dr House? What's wrong?" she asked, starting to get worried and a little scared.

House looked away without a word, staring down at the top of his desk. Cameron carefully backed out of the room and swallowed hard.

"I'm going to get Dr Wilson," she said calmly. "Keep an eye on him."

"What's wrong now?" Foreman said with mild irritation.

"I don't know," Cameron replied. "He didn't say anything. He…he looked drugged or shocked or something."

The two men swivelled around and stared into the office where House was still staring down at the top of his desk. Cameron didn't wait for any response from them; she just hurried out of the conference room. She returned in a couple of minutes with Wilson, who took one look at House and darted into the room. They watched through the glass as he walked over to the unresponsive man and crouched down beside the chair.

"House?" Wilson said gently, placing one hand on House's arm. "Greg?"

House's eyes stuttered over to his and he blinked at the blank look in them.

"Greg, what happened?" he said gently but insistently.

"Dad called," House said in a whisper. "Mom's dead."

Wilson closed his eyes and swallowed hard; he liked Blythe House. He opened his eyes again and gently rubbed House's arm where his hand was lying.

"Oh god, Greg, I'm so sorry. How did it happen?"

"Heart attack," House whispered. "It was sudden. There was nothing they could do."

As Wilson watched House's blue eyes suddenly flooded with grief and tears welled. Wilson quickly stood and propped himself against the desk, wrapping his arms around House as the older man suddenly buried his face into his shirt and wept. He gently stroked House's hair and a few tears of his own fell. House might avoid his parents like the plague on occasion but he loved them, especially his mother.

A soft sound from the doorway made him look around and he saw Cameron had snuck in and was in the process of quietly drawing the blinds. He gave her a small nod and she smiled briefly in reply, her gaze drifting down to the quietly sobbing House. He saw her worried look and mouthed the word 'later' to her. She nodded then silently slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Wilson simply held House, gently rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words. When he felt the other man's shudders start to slow and dissipate, he spoke.

"When's the funeral?" he asked quietly.

"Three days," House replied, his voice muffled by Wilson's shirt. His hands tightened momentarily where they were clutching that shirt then he said, "Come with me?"

Wilson closed his eyes. "Of course," he said softly.

He felt House shudder again and he threaded his fingers through the greying hair of his lover as he mentally sorted out the details of who would take his patients and how they would get to House's parents place. After several minutes, he cradled House's face in his hands and looked down at him.

"Go and lie down," he said, gesturing with his head towards the chair in the corner of the office. "I'll speak to Cuddy and get things organised."

House looked like he was about to complain but when Wilson leaned over and brushed his lips with his own, he subsided and nodded. Wilson handed him his cane and watched with worry as House limped over to the chair, looking like he was an old man. House settled down in the chair and closed his eyes, tilting his head towards the wall and Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He pushed himself off the desk and with a last worried look, he left the office.

"What's wrong?" Cameron demanded the moment he closed the door. She was standing beside the table with her arms crossed.

Wilson swallowed past the lump in his throat. "House's mother has died."

Cameron paled and covered her mouth with one hand. Chase looked startled while Foreman looked decidedly taken aback.

"I'm going to speak to Cuddy," Wilson continued. "I'll be organising leave for the two of us then I'll be back to take him home. I don't want him disturbed for anything. You three can figure this out for yourselves."

The three young doctors nodded frantically and Wilson strode out of the room. Cameron fumbled her way into a seat, one hand still over her mouth. Chase folded his hands together and bowed his head in what may or may not have been a prayer. Foreman sat stock still for a long moment then he cleared his throat.

"We, uh…we have a possible diagnosis," he said, sounding strangely hesitant. "Let's…go test for it."

The other two gave him a scandalised look and he scowled slightly.

"You heard Dr Wilson," he replied testily. "We still have a patient to treat. You think House would be _understanding_ if we let her die? We have a job to do."

Chase was the first one to nod then Cameron did so as well.

"You two go and run the tests," Chase said firmly. "I'll stay here. Someone needs to make sure he isn't disturbed until Dr Wilson gets back."

The other two nodded and rose to their feet. They spared a glance back at the closed-off office then left while Chase settled in to wait for Wilson, his mind full of thoughts of his own parents and how he felt when _his_ mother had died.


	88. New Year

**095. New Year**

Happy New Year

The party was in full swing with doctors, nurses, administrative staff and even a few ambulatory patients all enjoying themselves, eating, drinking and dancing the New Year's Eve away. House sprawled on one of the couches that had been shoved unceremoniously into a corner and watched with sardonic interest. He'd had no real intention of coming to this party but Wilson had insisted and even pulled out the sad, puppy eyes, conning him into coming before he really knew what he was doing. But even though he promised to come he hadn't promised to be sociable and the moment they'd arrived he'd snagged as many beers as he could comfortably carry and ensconced himself in this corner.

It was the ideal corner really; he could sit here, tucked behind part of a table and a couple of potted plants and observe the room while being nicely out of the way and unnoticeable. That kept people from coming over and generally annoying him while he waited until Wilson wanted to leave.

And speaking of the great St Wilson, House had been watching him for most of the night, expecting to see him flirting with every nurse that crossed his path. But he'd noticed early in the night that Wilson was remarkably…un-flirty. Something that was decidedly out of character for the man. Wilson flirted almost unconsciously and House had been having an intriguing time trying to work out what was different tonight.

He'd been distracted from his Wilson-watching at one point by the interesting spectacle of Chase and Cameron dancing _way_ too intimately for just a couple of colleagues. In fact their facial expressions as they danced said that as well. House had watched for several minutes with interest, amusement and more than a little relief. If Cameron was going to turn her attention to Chase then that meant _he_ was off the hook. That and the whole thing would provide him with ample fodder for baiting those two.

Foreman had also drawn his attention, mostly because of the woman he had turned up with. House had mentally applauded the man; the woman was simply stunning and from the reactions of those who met her, apparently charming and witty as well. House had spent a couple of minutes contemplating going out there and seeing if he could scare her off but had eventually decided he was too comfortable where he was. If he went out there people would know he was at the party and he might be obliged to make small-talk.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you do go out and talk to people for once," Wilson said as he collapsed on the couch next to House. "You might find some of them are worth it."

"Nah," House said with a dismissive wave of his beer bottle. "You're the only one here who's worth talking to and you've been depriving me of decent conversation."

House was amused and slightly startled to see Wilson blush at his comment. Surely Wilson _knew_ he preferred his company; why else would he have said yes to coming tonight? It hadn't been to watch him flirt with women…even though he hadn't actually done that…or because he felt like it was his duty.

"Well, I'm here now," Wilson said, leaning back on the couch and bumping House's shoulder with his own.

House glanced at the clock and raised an eyebrow. "Which is interesting given it's about a minute to midnight. Shouldn't you be out there looking for the fourth Mrs Wilson?"

Wilson smiled wryly as he glanced out at the rest of the party where everyone was laughing and milling around with expectant looks on their faces.

"I think I've given up on having anymore Mrs Wilsons," he said dryly. "It doesn't seem to work very well."

They both looked around as the others in the room started up a countdown at thirty seconds to go.

"So what do you think _will_ work?" House said with growing suspicion.

Wilson was sitting _here_ with the seconds counting down to a very auspicious moment. Surely that didn't mean anything?

Wilson didn't reply, just looked out at the party as the countdown continued, "TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

To the background of cheering, laughing and generalised kissing and hugging, Wilson turned to House and said, "I thought I'd try this."

He then leaned forward and kissed House.


	89. Diamond

**048. Diamond**

Diamonds Are House's Best Friend

Wilson walked in the door of House's apartment and let his bag drop to the floor with a sigh. He hung up his jacket in the closet then walked wearily into the living room where House was sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

"There's Chinese in the kitchen," House said without looking away from his program.

"Thanks," Wilson replied as he turned in that direction.

He quickly heated up some of the food and wandered back out into the living room. One truly good thing about staying with House was that he knew his friend would _not_ ask him how the meeting with Julie he'd been at this evening had gone. House didn't _want_ to know, didn't care, and Wilson was thoroughly relieved. It had not been pleasant but at least she wasn't going to contest anything to do with the divorce…and he did _not_ want to talk about it.

Once he'd finished eating, he got up and took his plate into the kitchen before returning and sitting down again, this time putting his feet up on the table with a sigh. He let his head fall back against the sofa and tilted it for a moment towards House. He'd just turned back to the TV when something penetrated the mush currently inhabiting his brain and he turned back to House.

The man was determinedly watching the TV and at first Wilson couldn't figure out what had caught his eye. Then he saw it, glinting in the dim light, and he leaned forward with a frown.

"House?" he said slowly. "Why are you wearing an…_earring_? And is that a _diamond_?"

"You'd know, Mr Three-Times-Engaged," House replied with a quirk of his lips as he continued to watch the TV.

Wilson let that one go. "_Why_ are you wearing an earring?"

"Got my ear pierced," House replied, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, obviously," Wilson said, a little nonplussed. "But…_why_?"

House was silent for a long moment as he stared at the TV and fiddled with his cane.

Finally he said, "Lost a bet."

Wilson blinked as a smirk threatened to burst out on his face. "With who?"

"With _whom_?" House corrected mendaciously.

"Never mind my grammar," Wilson said dismissively. "_Whom_ did you lose the bet to?"

House grumbled under his breath. "Foreman."

Wilson snickered. "And he made you get your ear pierced?"

"Uhuh," House replied grouchily. "And I have to leave it in for six months."

Wilson's snickers increased. "Should I ask what the bet was about?"

"No," House growled.

Wilson sat there and chuckled as he looked at the small diamond glinting in House's earlobe.

"I like it," he said suddenly, gaining a startled look from House.

"Very funny," came the disgruntled reply.

"No, seriously, I like it. It's very you," he said with false innocence.

"Shut up," House growled in reply, sounding exasperated.

"It's very sexy," Wilson said with a smile.

That got House to look away from the TV and he gave Wilson a startled look.

"What?"

Wilson considered what he could do right now. He _could_ treat it like a joke and continue to needle House and they would continue on as they always had. Or he could act on it and on the…tension that had been growing between them for at least the last five years. He shrugged mentally and shifted on the couch slightly.

"It's very sexy," he repeated before reaching over and turning House's head towards the TV. He leaned in and captured House's earlobe with his mouth, running his tongue around the earring and grinning inwardly at the moan that seemed to be ripped from the other man by his action.

He gained another moan when he let the earlobe go, this one in complaint. He ignored as he kissed his way along House's jaw, smiling slightly at the feel of stubble under his lips, until he reached House's lips. He paused for a moment to give House a chance to stop things if this wasn't what he wanted. Instead House sild a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

They were both panting when they finally separated and House started grinning maniacally.

"Do I really want to know why you're grinning like that?" Wilson asked with amusement.

"Foreman's going to be so disappointed when I tell him I like this thing," House replied as he grabbed his cane.

Wilson snorted and rolled his eyes. "Trust you to think something like that right now. Where are you going?"

"To bed," House with what could only be described as a happy leer. "Wanna come?"

"I'm sure we both will," Wilson replied with a smile.


	90. Where?

**078. Where?**

Lost…Or Not?

The door to the Diagnostic Medicine conference room slammed open and Cuddy walked in looking like a thundercloud.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Chase, Foreman and Cameron exchanged wary glances.

"Uh, he…hasn't come in yet," Cameron said hesitantly.

That brought Cuddy to a halt and she blinked then looked into the office.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"We…uh, don't know," Chase replied. "We tried calling him but he's not answering his phone. We've paged him as well but haven't had an answer yet."

"That's _all_ you've done," she asked incredulously.

"Uh, we were going to ask Dr Wilson but…well, _he's_ not in yet either," Cameron said. "And since he's been staying with House, we sort of figured that wherever _House_ is, he's probably there as well."

Cuddy calmed down considerably at that and instead of looking angry, she started to look slightly worried.

"Have you tried calling Dr Wilson?" she asked.

"We thought we'd wait for a little while longer and if House hadn't called us, we'd try calling him again and _then_ call Dr Wilson," Foreman said. "It's not like House hasn't been late before."

Cuddy gave the three of them a long look then nodded once. "Call me when he gets in," she said before turning on her heel and stalking out.

A slightly awkward silence reigned in the room for several minutes.

"Where do you think he is?" Cameron said, breaking the silence.

Foreman snorted. "You saw the mark on his neck yesterday _and_ the way Wilson blushed when Chase pointed it out. Where do you _think_ he is? Where do you think they _both_ are?"

"Now that's a mental image I didn't need," Chase complained lightly as he picked up his crossword again.

"Yeah," Cameron said quietly.


	91. Heart

**047. Heart**

Heartbeat

House sighed with a content that he hadn't felt in years. He was naked and lying half-sprawled over an equally naked Wilson with his bad leg draped over the younger man's legs and his ear pressed to Wilson's chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. He shifted slightly and smiled as Wilson responded by tightening his arms around him then started running a hand through his hair. He made an oddly cat-like sound of pleasure and sighed again, his eyes drifting closed.

"Do you need your Vicodin?" Wilson murmured into the quiet.

"Hmmr…nope," House slurred, halfway between waking and sleep.

"You sure?" Wilson pressed, still running his hand through House's hair.

House made a sleepy noise of amusement. "Can't believe you're asking me that," he murmured.

Wilson chuckled softly. "I know but I also know how impossible you'll be if you don't take one when you actually do need one."

"'M fine," House mumbled. "Feel good. Don't stop."

Wilson smiled and kept running his hand through House's hair. "I won't."

House hummed again. "Keeping you."

"Really?" Wilson said, feeling a warm pleasure rush through him. "That's good to hear. Feeling's mutual, you know?"

"Hmmm," House said, all but asleep. "Good."

Wilson waited until House's breathing evened out and his body went limp then he pressed a kiss into House's hair and whispered, "Love you."


	92. What?

**077. What?**

Not Yet Dead

"What?" Wilson said in disbelief.

Cuddy sighed and sat down, her shoulders slumping. "It looks like he was hit by a drunk driver who ran the red light. He…he was already dead when the paramedics arrived. They said it was probably quick…he didn't suffer."

Wilson snorted. "He suffered everyday," he said with bitter anger.

Cuddy sighed again and hesitated. "Dr Wilson…_James_…they need someone to identify the body."

Wilson flinched and ran one hand down his face. He drew in a long shuddering breath then nodded once.

"Where is he?"

"I…asked them to bring him here," Cuddy replied, looking weary beyond belief. "They agreed. He's…down in the morgue. The police just need a positive identification."

Wilson nodded again and slowly pushed himself to his feet. "You…haven't been down there?"

Cuddy shook her head. "He was your friend," she said simply.

Wilson stared at the floor then abruptly strode out of the office. He would not…_could_ not…meet anyone's eyes as he made his way down to the morgue. He had no idea if they'd heard the news but irrespective of that he didn't want to see their false sympathy or hear their hollow words.

When he got to the door of the morgue, he hesitated for a long moment before slowly pushing the door open and walking in. One of the pathologists was waiting for him and he gestured to the far table without a word, his expression calm and professional. Wilson appreciated that and he slowly walked over to the indicated table. He could see two police officers standing in the next room, talking with another pathologist but he ignored them for now.

The body was covered in a crisp white sheet and Wilson didn't want to pull it down. Didn't want to have to see what was under it. Didn't want to have to accept that his best friend…and as of three nights ago…his lover was dead.

He let out a shuddering breath and reached for the sheet with a shaking hand, slowly pulling it back and looking down into the face of the dead man. For a moment he stared then he blinked and frowned and looked again. He drew the sheet over the dead man's face again and turned around to face the pathologist.

"That's not him," he said in a voice that was eerily calm.

"What?" the pathologist said, striding over and pulling back the sheet with a frown. "Are you sure?"

"He's…about the same age and build but that's not House," Wilson said firmly.

Something occurred to him and he walked around the table until he was level with the dead man's right leg and he pushed the sheet back. What he saw actually made him smile; no scar…an intact right thigh.

"This isn't Greg House," he said firmly, all of his grief falling away.

"Damn right it isn't."

Wilson looked up to see House limping into the morgue using a cane that definitely wasn't his normal one. He looked bruised and battered, with abrasions on his face, and from the way he was standing he had other injuries as well. He was also looking distinctly disgruntled.

"House!" Wilson yelped, just barely restraining himself from rushing over and hugging the other man. "What happened?"

Amusement gleamed in House's eyes for a moment and Wilson knew that House had seen that almost infinitesimal first movement he'd made and knew what he'd wanted to do.

"I was motorcycle-jacked," House said with an infinite amount of disgust. "I didn't even think that was possible. Some jerk ran over when I was stopped at a stop sign, pushed me off the damn bike and tried to ride away on it."

"Tried?" Wilson said, glancing down at the body. "Looks like he was successful."

"Yeah, well, eventually," House griped as he limped over, ignoring the pathologist. "I made a couple of attempts to stop him. Damn leg."

By this time House had come to a halt in front of the table and he looked down at the covered body. He almost casually reached over and pulled the sheet back from the dead man's face and scowled down at the corpse.

"Yeah, that's the bastard," he growled.

"I'll…get the police," the up-until-now ignored pathologist said hastily.

"You do that," House said, turning and heading for the door. "But tell them to come up to my office. Dr Wilson and I will be up there."

"We will?" Wilson said mildly, almost automatically falling back into their usual routine though the intense feeling of relief was new.

House paused and glanced over his shoulder, a grin accompanying the leer. "I need someone to soothe my aching body. If I remember correctly, you volunteered for that job."

The pathologist stared at them for a moment then shook his head abruptly and almost ran for the other room. Wilson rolled his eyes at House and smiled.

"Yes, I think I did," he said as he walked over and joined House.


	93. Shade

**075. Shade**

Restive

House sat in the shade of the massive elm tree and leaned back against the trunk, his eyes closed and a small smile playing around his lips. Lying beside him with his head resting on his good leg was Wilson and House was gently carding the fingers of one hand through his soft hair. Wilson also had his eyes closed and House wasn't entirely sure if the younger man was awake or not. He opened his eyes and stared out over the view of fields and trees and smiled lazily.

"This was a good idea," he murmured almost to himself.

"I occasionally have them," came the contented reply.

"Thought you might be asleep."

Wilson smiled, his eyes still closed. "No, just very, very comfortable."

"Yeah," House said in heartfelt agreement. "So how much of your soul did you have to sell to Cuddy to swing this?"

Wilson chuckled. "None of it. I just pointed out that the last time you took any time off was when you had the infarction and that was not what anyone in their right mind would call a _holiday_. I then pointed out that it was actually against hospital policy for Department Heads to go so long without taking a holiday and that since I was the only one likely to get you to _willingly_ take a break and you would most likely insist that I come with you, I needed to take some time as well."

House considered that for a moment then he snickered. "You _conned_ her."

"I merely pointed out that what was good for you was undoubtedly good for her and the hospital," Wilson protested lightly, opening his eyes to reveal the merriment dancing in them.

"And the fact that it allowed us to sneak away for some well-deserved nookie had nothing to do with it," House said with amusement.

"We don't have to sneak away for _that_," Wilson replied. "Not we _snuck_ away in the first place. Everybody knew we were going." He paused and said teasingly, "I think there was a big party in Diagnostics the day after we left, celebrating two weeks without you around."

"I'm hurt," House said with a mock-pout. "And _so_ misunderstood."

Wilson laughed. "I think you're very well understood. Although Chase and Cameron might be in two minds about the whole thing. They didn't look too pleased to hear that Foreman had been placed in charge temporarily."

House snorted. "Good. Let's see how well he does when _I'm _not there to save his bacon."

Wilson debated answering that but decided to let it go and change the subject. "So when am I going to get that well-deserved nookie you were talking about just before?"

House smiled as he continued to stroke Wilson's hair. "Hey, I was all for it when we got here. _You_ were the one who wanted to go for a _walk_ which is really not my thing."

"You agreed," Wilson protested lazily.

"I'm an irresponsible drug addict according to you," House replied with amusement. "Anything I agree to should be greeted with suspicion."

"Oh, so it's my fault," Wilson said dryly.

"Yep," House replied, not meaning it in the slightest.

"So if I were to suggest going to back to the hotel and indulging in some of that aforementioned nookie, what would you do?" Wilson asked, smothering a laugh.

"I'd agree," House replied with a grin.

Wilson did laugh at that but he also sat up, House's hand falling away and landing on his thigh. Wilson smiled at his lover as he got to his feet.

"Well, despite the fact that you're an irresponsible drug addict whose word is suspect, I'm still going to hold you to that," he said, holding out a hand.

House considered that hand for a moment then took it, allowing Wilson to help him to his feet. Wilson then picked up his cane and handed it to him.

"Good," House said as they started walking back towards the large building that had been behind them when they were sitting. "Then again, you usually do know when I mean something."

"Experience is a wonderful teacher," Wilson said in a voice as dry as the desert.


	94. And

**083. And**

Wanting More

First it had been Greg and Stacy. Then it had been Greg and Stacy and James and Annie. Both men got along well, both women got along well…it was a good situation all round. It worked; they had fun, they went out to dinner, played golf, played tennis, went to movies.

Then the infarction occurred.

Then it became Greg…and James and Annie. Then it was just Greg and James.

Somewhere along the line that became House and Wilson before modulating into House and Wilson and James and Julie. One caught between two. One trying to be two different people at the same time.

Now it was House and Wilson again.

As Wilson sat on the couch next to House, he wondered if they could ever become Greg and James again. And a small, silent, absurdly hopeful part of him wondered if they could ever be _Greg and James_.


	95. Christmas

**092. Christmas**

Presents

Wilson slumped in the chair behind his desk and scowled at the paperwork that had accumulated in the last few days. It was one of the curses of being Jewish; everyone assumed you were happy to work over Christmas. In truth, he _hated_ working at Christmas, especially Christmas Day. It started out quiet enough but shortly after lunch you'd get the first influx of people with indigestion who swore they were having a heart attack, the endless stream of kids who'd stuck some part of one of their Christmas presents somewhere it _definitely_ wasn't supposed to go and then, as the day wore on, it would be the real injuries. The ones that came from the fights caused by too much Christmas cheer and too many people in the one room.

And this year was worse because House wasn't here. House normally wasn't one to celebrate Christmas; in fact he usually did a very good impression of Ebenezer Scrooge. As a result Cuddy always conned him into working and they spend some time together, moaning about the holiday and assorted other trivialities…defining the levels of Dante's hell one year in fact. But this year House's mother had importuned him for weeks about coming over for Christmas lunch and he'd had finally given in about two weeks ago.

Wilson sighed and got up, slouching over to the couch and sitting down with a thump. Technically his shift was over and he could go home but between the combination of a couple of doctors not having turned up as yet and the fact that he really didn't want to go back to an apartment empty of House, he couldn't really motivate himself to move. He let his head fall onto the back of the couch and closed his eyes, not bothering to move when he heard the door open.

"Your shift's been over for two hours, what are you still doing here?"

Wilson's eyes flew open and he looked around to see House leaning on his cane in front of the closed door, clean-shaven for once and wearing a neatly pressed suit…though without a tie.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with surprise. "I thought you were having Christmas lunch with your parents."

House limped over and sat down next to him, his expression dark and thunderous. "I was," was all he would say.

Wilson sighed and had to squelch the urge to take House's hand. "What did you do?"

House's scowl was directed at Wilson for a moment. "Why do you always assume it was me?"

"Fair point," Wilson conceded. "Let me rephrase that. What happened?"

House sat in sullen silence, thumping his cane furiously against the floor. Wilson waited patiently, fairly sure there'd been yet another clash between father and son but knowing it would be better if House actually told him.

"Mom asked if there was…anyone in my life," House snapped with angry mocking.

Wilson blinked, that wasn't exactly what he was expecting. "Doesn't she always ask something along those lines?" he asked carefully. "Even _I'm_ getting that question again from my Mom now that the divorce is through."

"Bet your Dad doesn't then suggest that the only reason you're alone is because you're being selfish and self-indulgent," House snarled.

Wilson sighed; he figured John House probably hadn't said it in _quite_ that fashion but that was certainly how House had heard it.

"I'm sure he didn't really mean it like that," he said soothingly.

Some of the anger rather suddenly drained out of House and he winced. "I…made it worse," he said reluctantly.

"Ah," Wilson said with well-hidden amusement. "And how did you do that?"

"I…suggested I was…seeing someone," House replied, hunching in on himself in a fashion that confused Wilson.

Wilson blinked and considered that. "Well, okay, probably not the _wisest_ thing to do in front of your parents. Who did you _suggest_ you were seeing? Cameron? They've met her, haven't they?"

"No, not her," House muttered, his gaze glued to where his hands were clutching the handle of his cane.

"Who then?" Wilson asked. "_Please_ tell me you didn't imply it was Stacy."

House shook his head sharply and frowned. When he stayed silent, Wilson placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes widening slightly when House flinched at his touch. He didn't remove his hand though and leaned slightly towards his friend.

"Who was it?" he asked quietly as a thin suspicion started to rear its head.

There was a long moment of silence then House said very softly, "You."

"Ah," Wilson said as amusement and a vague longing that what House said were true settling in his chest. "I take it your Dad didn't react too well to the idea?"

House snorted. "You could say that."

"He's…ex-military," Wilson replied. "That could explain his reaction."

By this stage House had turned his head to stare at Wilson. "What explains _your_ reaction?" he demanded. "I thought you'd be pissed at me."

Wilson was silent for a moment. "How would you react if I said…would that it were true?"

House's eyes widened for a second then something flared in them. "Like this."

He grabbed Wilson's tie and yanked him forward into a heated, sloppy kiss, full of passion, desire and pent-up longing. Wilson returned the kiss with enthusiasm, vaguely hearing the sound of House's cane falling to the floor before a hand buried itself in his hair. He let himself be pushed down onto the cushions of the couch, moaning at the feel of House's body pressing down on his. Suddenly he pushed House away a couple of inches, breaking the kiss. House blinked at him and Wilson saw the beginnings of hurt in those eyes and saw the barriers start to come up.

"Let me lock the door," he said hastily, relieved to see the barriers fall again just as quickly. "Last thing we need is someone to come barging in full of the Christmas spirit and catch us."

House considered that for a moment then smiled heatedly as he sat up again, allowing Wilson to get up. "Hurry up. I want to unwrap my Christmas present."

Wilson paused halfway to the door and laughed. "Should I wear a bow?"

House waited until he had locked the door. "Wear whatever you want. Still going to be the best damn Christmas present _I_ ever got."


	96. Star

**046. Star**

Moving Out

House lay on his back on the concrete floor of the balcony outside his office and stared up as the first star appeared in the darkening sky, the cold from the concrete seeping into his body. He knew he would regret this when he finally got up but for now he was content to wallow in the cold and his own sullenness. He should go home but if he did that he'd see Wilson packing and leaving for the new apartment he'd rented. He didn't want to see that and he didn't want to think about _why_ he didn't want to see it.

He was certainly having success on the first part. He was going to lie here until his leg couldn't stand it any more and then hopefully by the time he got home, Wilson would be gone. Unfortunately he wasn't having as much success evading the second part of his plan. All his brain wanted to think about was why he didn't want Wilson to leave.

He tried to tell himself it was the food. He'd just gotten attached to Wilson's cooking and actually having decent food in the fridge instead of his usual leftovers and beer. He even managed to convince himself of that for a grand total of perhaps ten minutes before he snorted and dismissed the idea. He could actually cook for himself, perhaps not _quite_ as well as Wilson, but it was usually his choice to eat crap.

He then tried to convince himself he wouldn't miss Wilson at all. That it would be nice to have his bathroom and his living room all to himself again and not have to put up with Wilson's morning routine. What kind of man blow dries his hair, after all? Unfortunately that didn't work for too long either. He'd liked hearing the sound of Wilson puttering around and he'd enjoyed poking fun at his friend and getting the exasperated responses in return. And he'd taken a certain strange comfort when he woke up in the middle of the night to limp out and find Wilson curled up asleep on the sofa.

He shifted slightly on the uncomfortable concrete as his leg started throb and stared at the stars that were appearing as night fell. He'd always tried not to think about that too much...why he felt _comforted_ by having Wilson there. Why he'd had to stop himself from brushing Wilson's hair away from his face. Why he'd almost brushed his fingers along Wilson's cheek in a gentle caress. Why he'd almost pressed a kiss onto Wilson's cheek while he was sleeping.

House closed his eyes and snorted unhappily as a cold despair wrapped itself around his chest. Who was he kidding? He knew damn well why he didn't want to watch Wilson move out. Because he wanted Wilson to stay. Stay in his apartment...or stay in his bed. Just...stay.

He let out a shuddering breath and slowly, painfully, awkwardly climbed to his feet, wincing at the wave of pain that washed up from his leg. He fumbled for his pill bottle and swallowed a Vicodin. He contemplated another one but decided to wait until he got home. He'd sit on his Wilson-free sofa, take another Vicodin and try and forget everything he'd just been thinking with the aid of the bottle of scotch that was sitting on the sideboard.

That resolution held firm until he got back to his apartment to find Wilson's car still parked outside. He winced as he realised he'd come home too early then he steeled himself, marshalling some truly sarcastic words to throw at the deserting man, and limped up to his front door.

He got his first surprise when he walked in to the apartment. There was no sign of Wilson but all of his things were still in the living room and the room was awash with warmth and light. He took a couple of limping steps forward. In the kitchen he could see a plate wrapped in foil sitting on the table with a note propped against it. He limped warily over to the table and picked up the note. In Wilson's neat writing it said: _Eat all of this. You didn't have lunch._

He snorted and tossed the note onto the table. He held a hand over the foil and realised it was still warm so he peeled the foil back and sat down. Wilson had left a knife and fork next to the plate and he slowly, then with more enthusiasm, began to eat the meal Wilson had left. When he was finished, he put the plate and cutlery in the sink and limped back out into the living room and looked around again.

He frowned and shook his head then headed for his bedroom. He came to a sudden halt two steps into the room and his breath caught in his throat. The light on the bedside table was on and it was illuminating the form of Wilson in his bed. The younger man was asleep, curled up on his side facing the door. He also appeared to be naked...or at least naked from the waist up since that was where the blankets were lying. He seemed to sense someone was there and shifted as he woke, his eyes opening slightly.

"House," he murmured sleepily.

"You were moving out," was all House could think of to say in return.

"There is no new apartment," Wilson admitted, waking a little more and stretching a bit. "Didn't think you'd actually _let_ me move out."

House blinked. "What?"

"Was pretty sure I figured out how you felt," Wilson replied, propping his head up on one hand and eyeing House with a lazy smile. "I kind of hoped to prod you into saying something. When you didn't...well, I decided I'd better make things obvious."

"I...didn't know," House said, struggling to believe this was real and he hadn't fallen asleep on the balcony at the hospital.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You know, for such a brilliant diagnostician you can be remarkably dense at times." He paused and chuckled. "Are you planning on standing there all night? Because the bed's nice and warm and very comfortable."

That seemed to jolt House out of his shock and he took the steps required to get him to the side of the bed.

"I know, it's mine after all," he shot back as he leaned his cane against the bedside table then sat down and leaned over to pull his shoes and socks off.

He tossed them over to the side and sat up. He pulled his shirt off and tossed that on the floor as well and was about to deal with his t-shirt when he felt a pair of warm hands slide under the shirt and up his back, rucking the shirt up as they went. The hands slipped around his sides and ran down his chest, brushing his nipples and drawing a shuddering gasp from him.

"Let me help you with that," came Wilson's amused voice in his ear.

He let Wilson pull off the t-shirt, moaning quietly and leaning back into his friend's warm body when he felt the kisses being pressed to his neck and shoulders. Wilson's hands continued to stroke and caress his chest then they slipped down and went to work on the button and zip of his jeans. House let his eyes close and his head drop back onto Wilson's shoulder; this felt too good to be a mere dream. A guttural noise was ripped from his throat when Wilson's hand slid down into jeans and boxers and wrapped around his cock and his hips bucked slightly.

"James," he said in a shaking voice, turning his head so that his lips brushed Wilson's neck.

He felt more than heard the soft sigh from Wilson then he whimpered as the hands that had been causing such havoc disappeared.

"Get them off," Wilson said into his ear, his voice heated and low. "Then get into bed. I want to show you everything else you missed in your uncharacteristic density."

House paused before he pushed his jeans down and manoeuvred them off, twitching slightly as Wilson's warm body moved away.

"That's disturbingly dominant of you," he said with a small grin as he heard Wilson's snort. "And even worse, I find it disturbingly hot."

He shucked off his boxers and slid onto the bed, lying down and eyeing Wilson with arch amusement.

Wilson returned the smile then he leaned forward.

"Let's see what else I can do that's disturbingly hot," he said with a flash of a grin before kissing House.


	97. Club

**049. Club**

Realisation In Extremis

House limped up to the door of his apartment with a rather disgruntled look on his face. For once that look wasn't caused by his current patient, his day in the clinic, Cuddy or his ducklings, this time it had a single cause that had to do with his own home. Or to be more precise what was no longer _in_ his own home. Wilson had moved out three days ago and House was finding that he...missed his friend. He was annoyed at himself for feeling this way and he was annoyed at Wilson for _making_ him feel this way and the one thing he was steadfastly _refusing_ to do was think about the underlying reason for the feeling.

He grimaced as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He limped inside and dropped his bag before shoving the door closed. He then limped into the living room where he came to a sudden halt. On the other side of the room, rifling through his bookshelf, was a man. A young man, probably no older than twenty, with long, scraggly, unwashed hair, dirty clothes and a desperate air about him.

House didn't even think before he limped forward and shouted angrily, "Hey! What are you doing?"

The young man spun around and the desperate, slightly crazed glint in his eyes made even House stutter to a halt. For a brief moment they stared at each other then the young man leapt towards House. He ripped the cane out of House's hand then swung the improvised club at the older man, each blow making a meaty thudding sound as it impacted.

House tried to grab at the cane then the young man but the man's frenzied strength was too much for him. And when the cane impacted with the top of his right thigh, the pain that ripped through his body took away any fight he had left. His leg collapsed underneath him as he screamed and he fell to the ground, curling up in a ball as the young man continued to rain frenzied blows down on him with his improvised club.

His screams trailed off into sobbing gasps of pain as the blows continued, seemingly without end, and he dimly heard then felt his ribs break under the blows. Then the cane smashed into his face and he knew nothing.

House slowly swam up to consciousness, groaning as every part of his body reported back with pain. For a moment he didn't remember what had caused it then the memory of the young man came back to him and he stiffened, his eyes flying open as he whimpered at the pain caused by the slight movement. He shuddered and slumped down again when the room proved to be empty. He made an abortive move to try and get up but quickly gave up when pain became intense and his vision went grey. He was fairly sure he had broken bones and from the way his stomach felt he suspected he was bleeding internally.

He slowly uncurled enough to move his arms, almost sobbing with pain, and fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket. His hands refused to completely cooperate with him however and the phone fell to the floor. He didn't bother trying to pick it up again, merely fumbled around until he could hit the speed dial that would call Wilson and shifted himself enough to hear the dial tone. As the phone rang, he could feel the blackness creeping up on him again and he held it off long enough to hear Wilson answer the phone. He was able to choke out "_Wilson_!" before oblivion claimed him again.

Wilson was lounging on the sofa in his new apartment, beer in one hand and watching the television. Mostly he was just staring at the screen, his thoughts miles away...or only a few blocks away to be precise. The apartment felt cold and unfriendly and he was trying to remember why he'd wanted to move out of House's place in the first place. Admittedly it was infinitely more comfortable sleeping in a bed than on House's sofa but he missed having someone around.

He sighed and put the beer down on the coffee table. He missed having House around. But he'd _had_ to move out. Being around House all the time had put a severe strain on his self-control and he couldn't remember the number of times he'd woken in the middle of the night with a pain in his back and wondered how House would react if he crawled into bed beside him.

He gave a start when his cell phone started ringing then grimaced, hoping it wasn't the hospital. He reached over and plucked the phone off the coffee table, glancing down at the display and smiling a little when he saw it was House.

"Hey, House. Miss me?" he said with amusement when he answered the phone.

For a moment there was no reply and he grinned, wishing he could see the expression on House's face. Then House's voice rasped out his name in a pained, agonised tone he hadn't heard in years and the grin drained away and a trickle of fear took its place.

"House?" he yelled down the phone. "_House_? Are you there? Come on, answer me!"

There was no reply though the phone hadn't been hung up. Wilson scrambled to his feet and grabbed his keys with one hand, keeping the phone to his ear and yelling down it in the hope that House would answer. He ran out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him and jumped into his car, keeping the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he drove. For the entire trip he yelled intermittently down the phone but got no answer. He finally disconnected the call when he pulled up in front of House's apartment and he all but threw himself out of the car.

He came to a halt at the front door when he realised that it was open. Not by much but it was open and the trickle of fear started to turn into a torrent. He pushed the door open and walked in, House's name dying on his lips when he saw the body lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He staggered over, falling to his knees next to House and hurriedly felt for a pulse with shaking hands. He sagged with relief when he felt the thready beat under his fingers then he lifted his cell phone and called for an ambulance.

Once that was done he began gently assessing House's injuries, noting in the distant, clinical part of his brain that House had apparently been beaten with his own cane, then the sound of the ambulance arriving broke off all thoughts. He went to the door and waved them in, giving them a curt summary of what he'd found and making sure they knew of House's underlying problem. He then ordered them to take House to Princeton-Plainsboro. The paramedics nodded calmly then deftly went to work. In fairly short order they had House on a stretcher and heading out to the ambulance. Wilson glanced around and saw House's cane lying discarded on one side of the room and he walked over and picked it up before following the paramedics outside. He paused only long enough to lock the door then he climbed into his car and followed the ambulance, making a call to Cuddy on the way.

He was relieved to see the woman standing in the receiving bay when he arrived and watched as she quickly organised the ER staff. Once they were working she walked over and gave Wilson a searching look.

"What happened?" she asked calmly.

"I...I don't know," Wilson replied, House's cane clutched tightly in one hand. "He's been beaten obviously but he was unconscious when I got there. He obviously came round enough to call me." He shook his head, feeling oddly guilty. "I should have been there," he muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving his friend.

"You would have _both_ been hurt then," Cuddy said logically.

"You don't know that," Wilson snapped. "Lisa, he was beaten with his own cane. If I was there, maybe I could have made a difference."

Cuddy sighed. "Don't do this to yourself, James. You couldn't have known this was going to happen. Have you called the police?"

Wilson shook his head absently. "No, just the ambulance."

He jerked as the movements of the ER staff picked up in urgency then he made to follow as they rushed House away. Cuddy quickly caught his arm and halted him.

"They're taking him to surgery," she said, having followed what was going on far better than Wilson. "There's nothing more you can do right now except wait." She gave him a small shove. "Go. You know where the waiting room is. I'm going to call the police."

Wilson hardly heard her as he stumbled through the corridors. He didn't go to the waiting room but instead made his way up to the viewing room for the operating theatre. He fell into a seat as he realised they were operating for internal bleeding and he clutched House's cane in both hands. As he watched, he took some comfort from the calm, unhurried manner of the surgeons. The surgery seemed to stretch for hours though he was sure it couldn't really be that long and when it was finished, one of the surgeons turned and looked up at him, giving him an 'OK' gesture. He returned it with a wave and a weak smile then hurried out of the viewing area.

The nurses wouldn't allow him into the recovery room and he paced the corridor impatiently until they were ready to move him to a room. He followed on their heels, ignoring their exasperated looks, until he could sit down next to House's bed. He gently leaned the cane against the bedside table and scrubbed his face with his hand before taking a good look at his friend.

House looked terrible. There didn't seem to be an inch of skin that wasn't covered in bruising and underneath the oxygen mask, he looked pale and haggard. From the machines House had been hooked up to, Wilson could tell that his breathing was shallow but strong and his heartbeat slow and steady.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Wilson gave a start and turned to see one of the surgeons who had operated on House come into the room.

"How bad is it?" he asked with concern.

"Not as bad as it looks," the surgeon replied with satisfaction. "It just looks worse because of the bruising. He's copped a hell of a beating though. There was some internal bleeding but we fixed that easily enough. He's got three broken ribs on his right side and hairline fracture of his right cheekbone but that's it."

Wilson glanced back at the unconscious House with surprise then looked back at the surgeon. "That's _all_?"

The surgeon nodded. "He's a lucky man. I'll feel better when he wakes though. He's probably got a concussion so we'll need to watch for complications from that. And he'll be in a hell of a lot of pain." He paused. "More so than usual."

Wilson nodded as he finally started to relax. "Thank you," he said with relief.

"No problems," the surgeon said. "I'd recommend getting some rest but I figure you'd just ignore me anyway."

The surgeon chuckled at that then turned and left. Wilson watched him go then pulled his chair forward and took House's hand in his own. He sat silently, lost in his own thoughts, until exhaustion started to overwhelm him. He leaned forward so that his head was resting on the bed and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to ambush him.

Wilson slowly woke to the feeling of someone clumsily but gently stroking his hair. He murmured with sleepy pleasure then woke with a start and sat up abruptly. He winced as his back caught then looked over to see House was awake, looking at him through slitted, blackened eyes.

"House!" he gasped, catching the hand that had been running through his hair with his own. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," came the slurred comment then House reached up clumsily with his free hand to try and remove the oxygen mask.

Wilson stopped him and gently caught his other hand as well. "Leave it there," he said firmly. "You need it."

A shimmer of irritation flashed over House's face and he glanced down at their joined hands. Wilson followed his gaze but didn't let go and he looked up at House again.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked gently.

House blinked then frowned. "Someone...broke in," he muttered. "Grabbed my...cane."

"It's alright," Wilson said hastily, squeezing House's hands gently. "I just wanted to make sure you did remember. Cuddy called the police. They'll probably want to talk to you when you're ready."

House grunted as he shifted slightly on the bed, trying to sit up. Wilson thought about protesting but instead helped House into a more upright position.

"Did you do that for a reason or just to be contrary? You've had surgery, you know," he asked once House was settled again.

House scowled and reached up and pulled the oxygen mask away.

"Reason," he said, his voice still raspy. "Realised...something when I was...getting the shit...kicked outta me."

"What?" Wilson said with concern.

"C'mere," House said, gesturing to Wilson.

The younger man stepped forward then sat down on the edge of the bed, torn between worry and curiosity. House grimaced then grabbed Wilson's tie awkwardly and pulled him forward, crashing their lips together more through luck than good management. Wilson froze then leaned into the kiss, shifting his head to a better angle and making a small sound of pleasure as House deepened the kiss.

House was the first to break away, turning his head away and coughing then swearing and gasping as his ribs reacted. Wilson got him lying back against the pillows and put the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose.

"I told you that was there for a reason," he said with exasperation thought his eyes were alight with delight.

"Needed to..." House gasped, his voice slightly muffled through the mask.

Wilson stroked his cheek. "I'm glad you did," he said, cutting off House's attempt to speak. "But the rest can wait until you're better." He paused and gave House a curious look. "Why did you let me move out if this is what you wanted?"

House gave a slight shrug and looked uncomfortable. Wilson wasn't sure if that was due to the pain he was in or the question and he shook his head.

"Never mind," he said with affection as he sat down in the chair again and reached for House's hand. "I'll put it down to you being you."

House snorted then grimaced. "You left," he rasped.

"I thought you wanted me to," Wilson countered then he laughed. "Get some sleep, House. We can argue about this later."

House gave him a long look then his lips quirked into a small smile. "Stay," he whispered as his eyelids started to droop.

Wilson chuckled as he watched House fall asleep again. "My landlord's going to kill me," he muttered though his tone said he didn't care a bit.


	98. Triangle

**042. Triangle**

Cameron's Paperweight

House propped his cane against the bathroom sink and peered into the mirror. The fingers of one hand crept up and pulled away the small bandage on his face then fingered the small triangle-shaped wound on his cheekbone under his right eye. He winced as he stared at himself though not because the wound was especially painful. It wasn't particularly painful to a man such as himself who lived daily with a far greater pain. He winced because for the first time he realised why Wilson had been so pale while he was treating the wound. He'd come perilously close to some serious eye damage, maybe even to losing the eye completely.

"Don't play with it," came Wilson's voice from behind him. "And put the bandage back on."

House prodded at the wound again as Wilson came up behind him. Wilson wrapped one arm around his waist and captured the hand poking at the wound with his other, dragging it away from his face. He rested his chin on House's shoulder and sighed, his breath across his neck creating shivers in House.

"Too close," Wilson murmured, his arms tightening around his lover.

House was silent as he stared at the wound in the mirror, subtly leaning back into Wilson's embrace, seeking a comfort he couldn't bring himself to ask for.

Wilson's arms tightened again, providing the unasked for comfort. "What are you going to do?"

House's silence continued for a long moment then he finally spoke.

"Nothing."

"What?" Wilson's voice, though quiet, was indignant. "She could have blinded you."

"She was angry," House replied with a slight shrug.

"That's no excuse," Wilson replied.

"I _made_ her angry," House countered with another tiny shrug. "I pushed. She finally snapped. It was bound to happen eventually."

"She threw a paperweight at you," Wilson protested. "She could have hurt you badly."

"It was only a _small_ paperweight," House said with yet another tiny shrug.

"House…"

"And it only hit me because I didn't duck fast enough," House said quickly, not letting Wilson finish whatever he was going to say.

"So you're just going to do _nothing_?" Wilson said with a sigh.

"I goaded her," House said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "And I did it deliberately. I actually thought you'd be telling me I deserved what I got."

In the mirror, House saw Wilson close his eyes and shift his head so that his forehead was resting on his shoulder.

"God, there was so much blood," Wilson murmured, his voice muffled.

"Head wounds always bleed like a son of a bitch, you know that," House said dryly as he turned around, carefully bracing himself against the sink then pulling Wilson closer.

Wilson came willingly and House smirked as his lover did his best limpet imitation.

"You do realise there was absolutely no chance of me _dying_ of this injury," House said with a snicker. "Therefore your current position, while fun and kinda flattering, is probably better saved for when I _really_ piss someone off."

He got a short, muffled laugh for that comment.

"Besides did you _see_ Cameron's face when she saw all the blood?" House continued with another snicker. "She looked like she was trying to decide between fainting, helping or committing hara-kiri with the nearest pencil. I'll be able to palm my clinic hours off on her for _weeks_, maybe even _months_! I'm not even going to _think_ about firing her. I love the guilty, they're so much fun."

Wilson's head shot up and he gave his lover an appalled look. "You're going to take advantage of this?"

House frowned. "Hey, you were the one wanting me to fire Cameron. Why is my idea bad and yours good?"

"She assaulted her boss," Wilson said with a frown.

"I made her," House replied with a careless shrug. "Or goaded her into it. Same, same."

"So that makes it okay?" Wilson said dubiously.

"If I'm not pissed then what does it matter," House replied testily then he sighed. "Look, I'm…sorry you got freaked by what happened."

Wilson sighed as well and shook his head. "I'll get over it," he said with resignation. "Just…try not to goad any of your ducklings into trying to kill you again. _Please_, for my sake?"

House laughed at that. "Now _that's_ a promise I can't make but hey, I'll try."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Well, if that's the best you can do."

House grinned. "Definitely. Now shouldn't there be something like life-affirming sex about now?"

"I thought you said there was no chance of you dying from your injury?" Wilson said levelly though he knew House could see in his eyes how much the idea appealed to him.

"Well, you never know," House said, waggling his eyebrows.

Wilson considered it for a moment as House's hands drifted down to his arse then he shrugged. "Why not?"

House gave him a feral grin, making the triangular wound on his cheek shift slightly. "Bedroom," he all but growled.

Wilson briefly pondered whether he should really find House growling orders at him so unbelievably hot but quickly abandoned that thought in favour of getting to the bedroom; he had better things to think about.


	99. Circle

**044. Circle**

It's All Foreman's Fault.

(Continuation of 048. Diamond)

House limped into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, a small diamond glinting in the lobe of one ear and a big, wide, ridiculously smug grin on his face. Not far from the diamond earring, on his neck, there was a livid hickey, which he was making no effort to hide.

"And how are we all this wonderful and delightfully cheery morning?" he said enthusiastically as he dropped his bag by the door of his office and headed for the coffee pot.

Cameron, Chase and Foreman exchanged startled, wide-eyed glances then stared at House warily as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Are you…" Cameron began carefully before breaking off and staring at House in surprise. "Wearing an _earring_?" she continued, sounding as though she doubted her own eyes.

"Is that a _hickey_?" Chase said, hard on her heels, his eyes getting wider by the minute.

House put down the coffee pot and turned to look at them, his smile bright even as he took a sip from his cup.

"Yep!" he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "It's all Foreman's fault."

Chase and Cameron's heads swivelled around in almost perfect unison to stare at Foreman.

"He lost that bet we made," Foreman said with an unfriendly look at House.

Both Chase and Cameron blinked, once again in that almost perfect unison.

"So…you gave him a…a hickey?" Chase said oh-so-carefully.

"No!" Foreman said indignantly. "The earring! He lost the bet so he has to wear the damn earring for six months."

"Oh," Chase said then he frowned and looked over at House again. "So who gave you the hickey?"

House smiled brightly again. "Not telling," he said in a manner reminiscent of a five year old before he limped over, picked up his bag and disappeared into his office.

There was a long moment of silence in the conference room then Chase carefully cleared his throat and looked over at Foreman.

"Okay, let me get this straight," he said carefully as Cameron stared into nothing with a frown on her face. "You made a bet with House, he actually lost and as a result he has to wear an earring for six months?"

"Yes," Foreman said impatiently.

"But you had nothing to do with the hickey?" Chase asked.

Foreman made a disgusted noise. "Of course not!"

"Okay," Chase said with an eerie calm. "Just checking."

The door opened at that point and Wilson ambled in, a small, slightly self-satisfied smile on his face. He eyed the three young doctors with curiosity and shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"Everything okay?" he said mildly though there was a hint of humour lurking deep in his eyes.

"House has a hickey," Foreman said grumpily as though that explained everything.

"Okay," Wilson said after a moment of silence.

"And he's acting weird," Cameron added.

"I think he's been replaced by a pod person," Chase supplied sagely.

Wilson smothered a smile and eyed the three doctors benignly. "Well, I'll just go and have a talk with him then."

Wilson gave them his best I-know-what-I'm-doing smile then turned and wandered into House's office. He waited until the door closed behind him then started laughing.

"I think they are officially freaked out," he said merrily.

"Good," House said smugly from where he was slouched in the chair behind his desk. "So why are _you_ here?"

"Curiosity mostly," Wilson replied, ambling over and sitting down in his normal chair.

"And the rest of why you're here?" House asked.

Wilson grinned and pulled a small box out of the pocket of his lab coat. He offered it to House and the older man raised an eyebrow then shrugged and took the box. He eyed it for a moment then opened it. When he saw what was inside, his other eyebrow went up then he grinned at Wilson. He reached into the box, pulled out a small gold circle and held it up curiously.

"You bought me an earring?" he said curiously.

"Yep," Wilson replied smugly.

"Um, why?" House replied, not looking at all disturbed by the idea.

"I thought it would feel a bit different when I went after your earlobe again," Wilson said blandly.

Heat flared momentarily in House's eye then placed the small gold circle on his desk. He then reached up and carefully pulled out the diamond stud. He put that on the desk then with a wince, he opened the sleeper and threaded it through the hole in his earlobe. Once that was done, he looked over at Wilson and grinned.

"Well?" he said archly.

Wilson raised an eyebrow then got up out of his chair and almost _prowled_ around to the other side of the desk. House watched his approach with growing amusement.

"There is a great deal of glass involved in the construction of this office," he said mildly.

"So?" Wilson replied, bracing his hands on the armrests of House's chair.

"Just pointing that out," House said, licking his lips and swallowing hard as he turned his head so that the ear with the earring was on display

"Thanks for that," Wilson said before he leaned forward and sucked House's adorned earlobe into his mouth.

He swirled his tongue around and even through the gold circle, drawing a serious of inarticulate moans and unintelligible words from House. He finally let the earring and earlobe go and stepped back from House's chair.

"Mmm, it does feel different," he said with satisfaction.

"Unh," was all House was able to manage.

Wilson snuck a quick look over towards the conference room where Chase, Cameron and Foreman were staring at them with looks of stunned surprise on their faces.

"Guess your team knows where you got that hickey now," he said mildly.

"Unh-huh," House said as he slowly started to pull himself back together.

"I think I'd better go now," Wilson said, his lips twitching as he struggled not to smile.

He'd made it all the way to the door that led to the corridor before House's voice reached him.

"You'll get yours tonight."

Wilson froze just for a second at the low, heated promise in that voice then he smiled and kept walking.


	100. Shapes

**041. Shapes**

Drug-Induced

House giggled as he lay on his back on the floor of his office and looked around. It was all so pretty, pretty, pretty. Pretty lights flashing and the floor kept swaying. That's why he was lying down; that and it made it easier to watch the ceiling ripple and the walls shimmy. He giggled again as line of can-can dancers high-stepped across the room and it didn't even occur to him to wonder why they all had Vogler's face. Not his body though, House shuddered at that idea; that would be scary.

"House?"

The voice sounded funny; kind of low and dopey as though someone had slowed down the tape. He giggled again and looked in the direction the slow motion voice had come from.

"You're Wilson-shaped," he slurred then he started giggling at the sound of his own voice.

"Jesus, House! What did you take?"

"I took your lunch," House said brightly then he frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"What? No! I'm not talking about that. House, _what did you take_?"

House had been staring at the walls, which had chosen that moment to start rippling through various shades of blue, and he jerked his head back towards the Wilson-shape that was looming over him.

"Angry Wilson-shape," he said sagely.

"I'm not angry. I'm worried."

House mentally relabelled the shape in front of him to 'Worried Wilson-shape' then stared in fascination as the proverbial pink elephant ambled through the room, trumpeting once before disappearing out onto the balcony.

"It wasn't wearing a tutu," he said sadly.

"What?"

The worried Wilson-shape's voice sounded almost scared but before House could comment on that his concentration was scattered by the feel of hands. They pressed into his neck and rested on his forehead and they felt warm and soft and oddly blanketing.

"Dammit, you're burning up. Foreman! Get in here!"

House winced at the sudden shout. "Noisy," he slurred. "Noisy, noisy, noisy, noisy."

A different, darker shape suddenly appeared and he squinted up at it.

"Ooh, Foreman-shaped," he said as the two shapes spoke over his head. Two more shapes suddenly appeared in his vision and he stared at them in fascination.

"More shapes," he slurred. "A Cameron-shape and a Chase-shape."

"What are you seeing?"

His head lolled over towards the Foreman-shape at his side and he smiled goofily. "Pretty shapes."

"His temperature's up, his pupils are dilated, his heart rate's increased and he's seeing things. He's taken _something_."

The words flowed from the Foreman-shape's mouth in large balloons and House watched them with fascination. Then the last set of words floated over the top of him and he frowned.

"I took his lunch," he said sadly. "I don't know why I did that." He frowned thoughtfully. "Thirsty. Mouth dry. Or is that the other way around?"

The Wilson-shape suddenly swore and House giggled again.

"Naughty, naughty," he said, waving a finger wildly in the air.

His hand was caught and he marvelled at the warmth of the hands around his own until he was jolted by a small shake.

"Wavy," he slurred as the ceiling and the four shapes around him rippled.

"I think it's acute anticholinergic syndrome. They mix anticholinergics with hydrocodone to try and discourage abuse."

House frowned as the words floated over his head; he was fairly he sure he should understand what that meant.

"House? How many Vicodin did you take today?"

The words had come from the Wilson-shape but for a moment he couldn't make any sense of them. Then the walls shifted colour and he frowned.

"Two," he said slowly, watching as the word bubbled out of his mouth and floated towards the ceiling. He giggled when the word hit the ceiling and popped.

"That wouldn't be enough, would it?"

"I don't know but I don't think we're going to get any sense out of him right now."

"What should we do?"

"Let it run its course. He's not hurting anyone and the drug will eventually work it's way out of his system."

"Do you want me to test his Vicodin? The batch may be tainted in which case we'll have to alert the pharmacy and Dr Cuddy."

"Yes, do it. Cameron, could you please close the blinds? I'll stay with him."

House hummed happily to himself as three of the shapes moved away, leaving just the Wilson-shape. House's head lolled over and he stared at the Wilson-shape, trying to determine if it looked like it did before.

"Worried Wilson-shape," he slurred.

"Yes."

"Pretty Wilson-shape."

"I…I…you're stoned out of your mind."

"Still pretty," House slurred with a rather loopy smile.

House heard a sigh then the Wilson-shape said very softly, "Thank you."

House squinted at the Wilson-shape for a moment then smiled that goofy smile again.

"Love Wilson-shape."

There was a sharp gasp from beside him.

"Now I know you're stoned."

House felt vaguely hurt by that and he pouted as best as he could, considering he'd suddenly forgotten how to work his lips.

"Tired," he slurred, closing his eyes.

He heard another sigh from beside him and then one of those hands he really liked caressed his hair.

"Go to sleep," the Wilson-shape said in a tone of voice he was completely unable to decipher.

He decided that was a good idea and slowly slid into oblivion.

When he slowly surfaced again, the first thing that hit him was that his head was aching.

"Shit," he mumbled through a tortuously dry mouth, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

"House?"

He recognised Wilson's voice and turned his head slightly towards it.

"Urgh," was all he could manage this time and he tried, unsuccessfully, to lick his lips.

"Hang on a minute," Wilson said then there was an ice chip being held at his lips.

He sucked the ice chip into his mouth and let it melt, sighing with relief as the moisture seemed to be absorbed almost immediately. They repeated this a few more times until House shook his head very delicately.

"How are you feeling?" Wilson asked and House felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"Head hurts," House said in something perilously close to a whine.

He felt the hand squeeze gently for a moment then disappear.

"I'll get you something for that," Wilson said quietly.

House heard soft footsteps move away from the bed and the sound of a door opening and closing. He lay in the bed with his eyes closed and tried to remember what had happened through the thumping in his head. He had the vaguest impressions of colours and shapes swirling around his office and a pink elephant kept popping up as well, much to his utter bafflement.

He heard the door open again and the footsteps return to his side then there was some muffled noises from somewhere nearby. Within minutes he felt the thumping pain in his head recede and he gingerly opened his eyes.

Wilson was sitting in the chair next to the bed and watching him with unalloyed concern though he could see a myriad of other emotions flitting through his friend's eyes.

"What happened?" House murmured.

"You don't remember?" Wilson said with surprise and what House thought was hurt, though he couldn't figure out just yet why the hurt was there.

"No," House replied, his brow furrowed with thought. "I remember…colours…and shapes but nothing specific."

He definitely saw the hurt flicker over Wilson's face when he said that then it was overtaken by resignation.

"You had acute anticholinergic syndrome," Wilson explained with a small sigh. "Foreman tested your Vicodin. It had been tainted, probably in the manufacturing process. The anticholinergic level was through the roof. Thankfully it was only a single batch affected but there have been cases all over the country. No fatalities but a few people have been hurt."

Wilson's expression kept telling House he'd missed something significant but House couldn't for the life of him work out what so he dismissed it to puzzle over later.

"So what did I do?" he asked with his own bout of resignation. "And how long are the ducklings going to hold it over me?"

Wilson smiled weakly, confirming House's suspicions. "You didn't do anything really. You just lay down on the floor behind your desk and giggled a lot. You kept saying things about shapes and you seemed rather upset that you'd taken my lunch."

House snickered. "I was?"

Wilson's smile became a little more genuine. "You didn't know why you'd done it."

"Because it was better than the crap they serve in the cafeteria," House said scornfully. "So, when can I get out of here?"

"I want you to stay another night just in case," Wilson said firmly. "You can go home tomorrow."

House grumbled and scowled then reluctantly gave in; the extra time might just give him the opportunity he needed to figure out why Wilson was acting so hurt. Maybe his ducklings could tell him.


	101. Why?

**080. Why?**

**(This is a continuation of Shapes – you should read that one first.)**

Remember

House had a lot of questions. While that wasn't anything particularly unusual, they didn't usually revolve so firmly around his best friend.

Why was Wilson acting so hurt? It was obvious that he was even though he was hiding rather well if you were anyone other than House.

Why was Wilson acting so skittish around him? Because he was, though again you probably had to be House to realise that.

Why was Wilson watching him so constantly? To be fair, he was doing it fairly unobtrusively but it was still a little disconcerting.

House was certain that all of this had something to do with what had happened during his little adventure into acute anticholinergic syndrome. Unfortunately he knew there was a fairly good chance he wouldn't remember what had happened beyond what he already had. And quite frankly what little he _did_ remember was just…weird. He remembered the office changing colours and he remembered there had been something about shapes, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what was so important about the shapes.

He growled under his breath as he limped up to his office. He needed answers to his questions and he wasn't going to get them at home, which is actually where he _should_ be right now. Cuddy had given him a week off, much to his utter disgust since after twenty-four hours on a saline drip he felt fine. Unfortunately Wilson had backed her up and _he_ knew how to manipulate House much better than Cuddy did. He'd backed that manipulation up by insisting on staying with House…just in case. Which had then given House a front row seat to Wilson's half-hidden hurt, skittishness and constant watching.

This was why he'd snuck out of the apartment after Wilson had gone into work and why he was going to have to hope that his friend was safely tucked away doing paperwork. He wasn't really in the mood to have Wilson yell at him right now.

Right now there was no sign of him so he quickly limped into his office and from there, into the conference room where his team was sitting around the table, amusing themselves.

"Dr House! I thought you were supposed to be at home?" Cameron said with surprise that quickly modulated into concern.

"Shhhh!" House said with a scowl as he slumped down into one of the chairs. "Wilson's got sharp hearing when he is extra-caring mode. He's like the roof of the forest."

The three young doctors looked at him warily.

"Uh…" Chase began.

House rolled his eyes. "It's just a turn of phrase. Now shut up and concentrate. What did I say when I was all…weird?"

"You're asking us?" Cameron said dubiously.

"No, I've just dragged myself all the way in here because I miss you all so very, very much," House said sarcastically. "Answer the question."

"Uh, well, we weren't exactly in there for all of it," Foreman said with a shrug. "After we came in you talked about shapes. You said something about a Foreman-shape, a Chase-shape and a Cameron-shape then you said you were seeing pretty shapes. You said you took Dr Wilson's lunch and that you were thirsty. You…told us you taken a couple of Vicodin then I left to test your pills."

House eyed him narrowly then his gaze shifted to Cameron and Chase. "Either of you two got anything to add?"

"No," Cameron said and Chase also shook his head.

House scowled then levered himself to his feet and limped into his office. He slumped down into his chair and started slowly tapping his cane against the floor. Shapes. The shapes were important, he just couldn't remember why.

He stared at the wall and realised that now that his memory had been jogged he actually remembered talking about Foreman, Chase and Cameron-shapes. He'd talked about a Wilson-shape too. His eyes narrowed as he recalled thinking of the Wilson-shape being angry and then being corrected to worried.

He tossed his cane back and forth from hand to hand as he prodded his brain into remembering more. All of a sudden his eyes widened and he gasped. Worried Wilson-shape. He remembered saying that. But then he'd said more. He'd called Wilson pretty and then he'd said he loved Wilson. He groaned and let his forehead rest on the handle of his cane. Of all the things to do while stoned out of his brain, he had to confess to Wilson that he loved him. He wasn't sure if he was disturbed because he'd actually told Wilson or because he'd told him while affected by drugs and Wilson wouldn't believe him.

Well, he had his answer to his questions now. The only problem was the answer had raised _more_ questions. Wilson being skittish around him could be explained if Wilson was freaked out by his admission but that wouldn't really explain the hurt looks or the watching thing. Nor would it explain why Wilson had volunteered to stay with him. If he was freaked then he'd be staying away. But did that mean what he wanted it to mean?

"What are you doing here?"

House started and swore then looked around to see Wilson standing in the doorway, hands on hips and glaring at him.

"I work here," House said somewhat defensively.

"Not this week," Wilson said adamantly. "You're meant to be at home resting. I know you don't have a patient right now so there's no reason for you to be here."

House looked away and tightened his grip on his cane. "I…needed some answers," he admitted reluctantly.

"What answers?" Wilson asked, coming fully into the office and letting the door close behind him.

House hesitated and shot a quick glance at his friend. "I needed to remember what I said because you've been acting weird."

"_I've_ been acting weird? In what way?" Wilson said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You've been…skittish," House said sharply. "And you've been giving me hurt looks and you're always _watching_ me. Obviously I did something or said something and I didn't think you were going to tell me so I came in to ask them."

He gestured to the three doctors sitting out in the conference room. Wilson glanced over and saw that Chase, Foreman and Cameron were surreptitiously watching them both. Wilson's lips thinned and he quickly closed the blinds; he had no idea if House had actually remembered but either way he didn't want all of this to be on display.

"So what did they have to say?" he asked once he was done.

House had watched this with a raised eyebrow but he didn't protest. "Nothing important but it was enough."

"Really?" Wilson said, his voice tense.

House stared down at the floor. "If what I said was that objectionable to you, just forget about it. Blame it on the drugs," he said in a flat, unfriendly tone.

"You said you loved me," Wilson said challengingly.

"Yeah, so?" House said sullenly.

"Did you mean it?"

"Why? Why do you want to know?" House asked, his voice now completely expressionless.

Wilson stared at the man sitting hunched in the chair behind the desk for a long moment then he threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Because I love you, you idiot," he half-yelled. "And if what you said was just because you were…were high on the wrong drugs and you don't really feel that way then why the hell would I want to admit that to you?"

House's head shot up and he stared at Wilson. His eyes were wide as he tried to make himself accept he'd actually heard that properly. He hauled himself to his feet and lurched over to where Wilson was standing. The younger man was staring at the floor, looking utterly defeated and one hand was rubbing the back of his neck. He limped over until he was standing directly in front of Wilson.

"You love me?" he said curiously.

Wilson started then sighed and nodded.

"Cool," House said.

Wilson looked up with a surprised expression. "What?"

"I meant what I said," House said seriously. "It wasn't just the drugs. Okay, I probably wouldn't have said it without the drugs but it wasn't _just_ the drugs. I meant it."

Wilson's jaw dropped slightly then he gave House a smile that almost literally took his breath away. House swallowed hard then limped the three steps required to close the gap between them. He then leaned forward and kissed Wilson.

Wilson was absolutely still for a moment then he moaned and returned the kiss for all he was worth, wrapping his arms around House fervently. When they finally separated, House let his forehead fall onto Wilson's shoulder and made a small noise of pleasure as Wilson began running a hand through his hair.

"I'm ready to go home now," he murmured, turning his head so that his lips were brushing Wilson's neck.

Wilson shivered and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I…I should come with you."

"Yeah," House said with a smile.


	102. Food

**059. Food**

**(This is a prequel to the prompt Christmas – basically it's what happened before House got to Wilson's office. And I'm in the middle of writing a sort-of sequel to Christmas as well.)**

Merry Christmas

House pulled up in front of the serviced apartment building and scowled. He mentally vowed never to trust his mother again. He was sure this was all _her_ fault; manipulating his father into taking a holiday over Christmas that just _happened_ to include a two day stopover in New Jersey. And then his mother had started in on _him_, insisting that this suspiciously fortuitous coincidence meant that he could come over and spend Christmas with them. Oh, and even better, because they were staying in a serviced apartment instead of a hotel, she could cook a proper Christmas lunch for them. Between the offer of good food and the guilt she'd used so effectively he'd ended up saying yes about two weeks ago and he'd been disgusted with himself ever since. He'd much rather have spent his Christmas at the hospital with Wilson, talking rubbish and avoiding treating patients.

He sighed and grabbed his cane from the passenger seat before opening the door and climbing out of the 'Vette. He leaned over and reached back in, snatching up the present he'd bought for them then he limped towards the doors to the apartment complex with an air of resignation. In far too little time he was standing outside the door of the apartment his parents were in and he reluctantly knocked. The door opened quickly and his mother beamed at him.

"Greg! Happy Christmas! I'm glad you decided not to avoid us this time," she said with an indulgent smile.

"Hi, Mom," House said with a reluctant smile as he let his mother hug him. "Well, you did lay the guilt on pretty thick."

He handed her the present and limped into the apartment, ignoring the merry smile and chuckle his comment provoked.

"Merry Christmas, Greg," John House said with a smile and slightly awkward nod.

"Hi, Dad," House said, rather determinedly not returning the compliment of the season.

John's lips twitched slightly at that and he waved a hand towards the living room. "Have a seat. Let me get you a beer."

"Thanks," House muttered as he limped into the living room and sat down on the sofa.

For the next half an hour, House engaged in conversation with his parents that was reasonably adult, only a fraction desultory and without the majority of his normal quota of sarcastic remarks. His mother flitted in and out of the room as she kept an eye on their food and House managed to not drink his beer too quickly. His father kept the conversation on lighter subjects even after they sat down at the table and everything went rather well up until the point that Blythe brought the dessert out.

"So, Greg, is there anyone special we should know about?" she said with a wicked smile and placed the bowl of ice cream in front of him.

House rolled his eyes as he picked up his spoon. "I think you asked me that question last time I saw you."

"Well, I didn't get an answer last time, so I thought I'd better ask it again," Blythe replied with a laugh.

"There was probably a reason I didn't answer it last time," House replied truculently.

"Well, I would hope it was because you'd found someone," John said indulgently. "You can't keep going on like this, Greg. That young woman who works for you, she seems to like you. Why don't you take a chance? Can't be any worse than the way you live now."

House actually flinched at that and his face darkened slightly. "I'm fine the way I am," he snapped. "Everything in my life is just fine."

Both John and Blythe looked surprised.

"Then…you _are_ seeing someone?" Blythe ventured. She hadn't missed the defensive way Greg had reacted to John's question and she wished her husband would stop treating their son like he was one of his subordinates.

House looked down at the table. He knew he should tell the truth but there was a cold, hard angry part of himself that was still about sixteen and sick to death of the way his Dad ragged on him all the time. And that part had the upper hand right now and it wanted to strike back and hurt and he knew just the way to do that.

He shrugged in a manner he knew his mother would understand and made a noncommittal sound.

Blythe looked startled for a moment. "You _are_ seeing someone?" she asked again, suddenly unsure if Greg was telling the truth. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You won't like it," House said flatly, still refusing to meet his parents' eyes.

A sinking feeling began to flow through Blythe. "Oh, Greg, it's not…Stacy, is it?"

She was infinitely relieved when Greg rolled his eyes; she'd always liked Stacy well enough and couldn't never thank the woman enough for saving her son's life but she also couldn't forgive her for walking away, not matter what the reason or how much Greg had pushed. In Blythe's eyes, if Stacy had truly loved her son then she wouldn't have _let_ Greg push her away.

"She's married, Mom," House said in a 'well, duh' tone. "And no longer working at the hospital."

"Oh, of course," Blythe said hurriedly.

"Is it that young woman we met last time?" John asked with a grin. "She was very nice."

"No," House replied shortly then decided to go for broke. "Wrong gender."

A sudden sharp silence fell in the room. Blythe's eyes widened as what Greg had said sunk in; she'd suspected that Greg had…experimented when he was at college from some of what he'd he said…or rather carefully _not_ said at the time.

"Do we know…him?" she asked carefully.

That small, savage, sixteen-year-old part of House was crowing gleefully at the expression on his father's face as he answered.

"Uh, yes," he muttered. "You've met him."

"One of the other doctors that works for you?" Blythe asked, her eyes drifting over to her husband and not liking what they were seeing.

"No," House said shortly. "And…urgh. No, well, you know him."

Blythe's eyes widened further. She knew her son didn't have many friends, much to her distress, so that really only left one option and, well, she'd always _wondered_ about Greg's relationship with James in spite of the fact that James had been married.

"_James_?" she asked softly.

"So you're a fag now, are you?" John said harshly.

"John!" Blythe snapped as House snarled, "It's called bisexual, Dad. Have I disappointed you again?"

"Yes!" John yelled.

House flinched backwards as Blythe gasped, "John!" again, his eyes going wide for a moment then he shut down completely, his face went blank and expressionless. He grabbed his cane and surged to his feet with enough force to send the chair toppling over backwards and a sharp stab of pain up his thigh. He ignored both of these things and limped towards the door, ignoring his mother's plea to stay.

The lift arrived with gratifying speed and he punched the floor button and the door close button with a fierce anger. When the lift doors opened again, he limped out of the building and got into his car, tossing his cane onto the passenger seat. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment until he saw his mother coming out of the front door of the building. He had no desire to speak to her or let her talk him into coming back upstairs and he _definitely_ didn't want her questioning his relationship…his _nonexistent_ relationship…with Wilson. He quickly started the car and peeled out of there with a screech of tyres.


	103. Winter

**061. Winter**

**(This prompt ficlet follows on from Christmas and Food.)**

The Winter of our Discontent

Wilson sat in the chair behind his desk and tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. Unfortunately the events of the previous day and particularly the previous night had his concentration shot to bits. His eyes flickered over to the couch on the other side of the room and his cheeks reddened as he remembered what he and House had done there the previous day. After they'd recovered they gone home and talked. House had refused to elaborate on what had happened with his parents but he had assured Wilson that this wasn't just a knee-jerk reaction, that he wanted it…more than he could really articulate; something that had been an enormous relief to Wilson.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of his office phone ringing and he gave his head a quick shake before picking it up.

"James Wilson."

"James, it's Blythe House."

Wilson's eyes widened for a moment; not so much at _who_ was calling him but at the upset tone of voice she was using.

"Blythe, it…it's lovely to hear from you," Wilson stammered. "Is everything okay?"

He heard a soft sigh from the other end of the phone.

"Did Greg tell you what happened?" Blythe asked quietly.

"Uh, I…sort of got the highlights but he wouldn't tell me the details," Wilson said carefully.

"What did he tell you?"

Wilson was silent for a moment. "He…said he told you both about…us and that it…didn't go down very well with your husband."

He heard something that might have been a muted sob or perhaps a choked laugh on the other end of the line.

"That was rather diplomatic of you," Blythe said, sounding rather upset. "You _are_ together then."

Wilson sighed and ran a hand down his face before deciding to be honest with Blythe.

"We are…_now_," he said quietly, hearing Blythe's understanding gasp. "Blythe, I won't deny I've…wanted this for a long time and from what he said last night so has Greg. But…look, I can take a few educated guesses as to why Greg did what he did yesterday but what happened was the…catalyst for us."

"I wondered," Blythe said softly. "Just for a minute there he got that expression he always wore when he was baiting John but it disappeared so quickly I thought I might have imagined it." There was a moment of silence. "I am…glad though. You've always been so good for him, James, and I've always known he cared about you even if he doesn't show it very well."

Wilson gave a small laugh then sobered. "Blythe, how bad was it really?"

He heard a deep, weary sigh from the other end of the phone.

"John overreacted to Greg's goading," Blythe said with a certain helpless desperation. "They've been doing it for years and I'm sure they both know what's happening but neither of them will back down." She took a deep breath. "John called him a…a…a fag and Greg asked if he was disappointed in him again. John…said yes."

"Oh, _hell_," Wilson muttered under his breath. It was worse than he'd thought.

"It was like watching an avalanche," Blythe continued wanly. "I knew I'd started it but couldn't work out how to stop it and now I don't know how to fix it. John won't talk about it."

"Neither will Greg," Wilson said resignedly. "And not in that 'I don't want to talk about it but you might be able to coax it out of me if you do something nice' way either. He's refusing to say anything about it at all."

"We're leaving tomorrow," Blythe said, sounding helpless.

"Look, maybe that's for the best for now," Wilson said soothingly. "Let the two of them settle down a bit. When do you come back?"

"The 14th," Blythe replied.

"Okay, I'll work on Greg, you can work on John," Wilson said, wondering how exactly he'd gotten into this situation. "Give me a call when you get back and we'll see if we can sort this out."

"Thank you so much, James," Blythe said with relief. "And irrespective of when it happened, I'm glad about you and Greg."

Wilson blushed even though he couldn't be seen. "Thank you," he said softly. "I do love him, you know."

"I have often wondered," Blythe said, her smile obvious in her voice. "Thank you, James. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Wilson said then hung up the phone.

He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands. When House had categorically refused to elaborate on what had happened during the lunch with his parents, he'd known it was bad. Usually House could be coaxed into talking or rather complaining about his parents, he rarely shut down entirely.

But Wilson could barely credit what had happened. If House had told him he might have suspected some exaggeration but when it came from Blythe then he knew that it was nothing but the truth. He wondered briefly how much of John House's reaction had been due to shock and House's goading and how much was genuine. While it was true that John House had spent the majority of his adult life in the military, Wilson had never gotten the impression before that the man was homophobic.

And how in god's name could the man actually say that he was disappointed by his own son? He knew that both of House's parents felt helpless in regards to their son's physical problems and his descent into bitterness and anger but he'd never expected that John House would actually be _disappointed_. His son was a superb doctor, world-famous, probably the best in his field. How any man could be disappointed in a son like that was beyond Wilson.

"Didn't realise paperwork required that much thought."

Wilson started and looked over to see House limping in through the door of the office. His lover looked amused and more relaxed than he'd seen in a long time and he felt something lurch inside at not only that sight but also the knowledge that _he_ was the cause of it.

"It doesn't," he said. "Your mother called me."

He regretted saying it the moment that House tensed.

"Why?" House asked harshly as he sat down.

"She was upset," Wilson said honestly. "She wanted to tease her son a bit and ended up causing a disaster that she doesn't know how to fix."

"So you're going to fix it for her, are you?" House asked sarcastically.

"Greg, the only people who can fix this are you and your Dad," Wilson said soberly. "I know what he said hurt and I have no idea if he really meant them or they were just stupid words said in frustration and anger. You said yourself last night that you were goading him."

"You think I should apologise?" House said incredulously.

"I think we should let this go for now and have everyone settle down for a while," Wilson replied. "Your parents are leaving tomorrow and will be away until the 14th. Maybe if you both think about it a bit, we can sort everything out."

House shrugged truculently but didn't say anything. Wilson watched him for a moment then smiled slightly.

"Your mother's pleased about us," he offered.

House gave him a startled look. "She is?"

Wilson's smile widened. "I told her the truth about us. She said she wondered for a moment there whether you were telling the truth or just trying to prod your Dad but either way, she's pleased."

A tiny smile flickered across House's lips and something akin to gratitude settled in his eyes for a moment.

"Good," he said with quiet satisfaction.

Wilson sat back in his chair and decided to let the matter drop for now. There was time to revisit it later and try to sort this mess out. Wilson had lost a brother because no one saw what was there until too late; he wasn't going to let House lose his father without a fight.


	104. Spring

**062. Spring**

**(This prompt ficlet follows on from Christmas, Food and Winter.)**

New Growth

House was gathering startled looks. This was nothing particularly new since he gathered startled looks all the time but this time they weren't for the usual reason. House normally gathered startled looks because he was being provocative or controversial or outrageous. But now he was gathering them because he was being…happy, relatively speaking. He was being reasonably polite. He was generally being a vaguely decent human being and no one could quite understand why.

Wilson knew why, of course. Mostly because he was responsible for it. In the two weeks since Christmas, since he and House had become lovers, he'd seen the changes in House. He was fairly sure they wouldn't last since he suspected at least part of the new behaviour was House enjoying himself at everyone else's expense but he was finding it amusing nonetheless. He had a number of questions directed at him about House's behaviour by various people but he'd chosen to evade them with bland looks and slight misdirections. He had no idea if House wanted their relationship to be public knowledge and for that matter he wasn't sure if _he_ wanted their relationship to be public knowledge either.

He leaned against the bench in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room and took a sip from his coffee cup to hide the smile as he watched House's team watch their boss with slightly baffled looks. House had been going for broke with his team, enough to convince Wilson that he was in fact messing with people, and the three young doctors were starting to get that deer-in-the-headlights look a little bit _too_ often.

"House, you're frightening the children," he said blandly though a smile flitted around the edges of his mouth.

He got slightly indignant looks from Chase, Cameron and Foreman but he ignored those in favour of the mischievous expression that washed over House's face.

"Anyone would think it's a crime to be happy," House complained amiably.

Wilson looked contemplative. "Well, perhaps not a crime but you're certainly freaking people out quite successfully."

House actually grinned at that. "Fun, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes, I rather thought that was why you were doing it," Wilson said mildly.

House sobered slightly and he shrugged. "It's one reason. Can't always let people know all of the reasons."

"True," Wilson conceded. "Sometimes reasons need to be thought through to determine if it's the best idea for all concerned."

"But in the meantime I can have some fun, can't I?" House asked brightly.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Sure," he said with an air of amused resignation.

House's team had been watching them with a great deal of confusion though as House got their latest round of wheel of diagnostics going again, Wilson could see the dawning suspicion in Cameron's eyes and he wondered how long it would be until she either figured it out or confronted one or both of them.

In fairly short order, House sent his team scattering out of the room to carry out a plethora of tests and the two of them retreated into House's office.

"I think Cameron suspects," Wilson said as he sat down.

"Why doesn't that surprise me," House said sourly as he picked up the ball on his desk and started tossing it in the air. "Don't you have dying, bald kids to weep over?"

"Ah, now this is more what people expect of you," Wilson said dryly.

House tossed the ball up and caught it a couple more times before answering.

"I have a sneaking suspicion I know what you're hanging around here for," he replied flatly. "Somehow that just sucks all the amusement out of the day."

Wilson sighed and put his coffee cup down on the desk. "They're going to be home in a couple of days and your Mom really wants to fix this."

"Some things can't be fixed," House replied bluntly.

"And some things can," Wilson said firmly. "They were words said in the heat of the moment, Greg, and you were goading him. Are you _really_ sure you want this? To never speak to your Dad again? To make your Mom completely miserable? Because she's blaming herself for this."

House scowled at him. "Do they teach classes on the many uses of guilt at shul? Because you sure as hell aced that class."

"I got nice diploma for it and everything," Wilson said blandly. "Actually everything I know I learnt from my mother."

That got a small smile from House then he shrugged.

"Fine. Whatever," he said sullenly.

Wilson sighed. He had at least got some agreement out of House; not willingly but he'd gotten it. It would do for now. He got to his feet and grabbed his coffee cup again.

"I'd better go and weep over my dying, bald kids," he said. "Try not to frighten your ducklings too much."

House gave him a far more genuine smile. "But it's _fun_," he mock-whined.

"Well, don't come complaining to me when it all blows up in your face," Wilson replied with amusement as he headed for the door.

"Who else am I going to complain to?" House said with cheerful scorn.

Wilson paused in the door. "Hmm, true. Oh well, I _am_ used to it."

He gave House a quick grin then headed off for his own office.

**086. Choices**

The Dinner from Hell

House sat sullenly in his chair at the restaurant table and scowled around the room. Wilson sighed and gave him a flat look.

"Can you at least _try_ not to be actively hostile?" he said irritably.

House shifted that scowl to him for a moment and he scowled right back. It had taken nearly two weeks to beat both Greg and John House into submission and get them to agree to actually sit in the same room and talk. A restaurant had eventually been chosen because it at least gave them a fighting chance that neither man would completely explode in such a public setting. It also almost guaranteed that Greg wouldn't drink too much. Since the infarction, he kept his drinking strictly to his own home for reasons Wilson was fairly sure he'd worked out but hadn't actually confirmed.

House dropped the scowl and clearly decided to settle for sullen and Wilson sighed again. It had been a battle to get House here tonight. He'd tried to find nearly every excuse under the sun to back out and Wilson had only been able to pry House out of the hospital with the connivance of both Cameron _and_ Cuddy, though neither woman was aware of precisely what this dinner was about.

He looked over as the door to the restaurant opened and John and Blythe walked in. He firmly ignored the sudden muttering that came from House's direction and raised a hand to draw their attention. He winced inwardly as he saw the drawn, worried look on Blythe's face and winced inwardly again at the set, blank look on John's face.

The older couple walked over and Blythe smiled at them both.

"Greg, James, it's lovely to see you," she said as she walked around and kissed both of them on the cheek.

"Thank you, Blythe," Wilson said then he looked over at John.

"James. Greg," John House said flatly.

"Please sit down," Wilson said as House firmly ignored his father.

A waiter came over after John and Blythe sat down and handed the menus around and took their drink orders. Wilson and Blythe made almost desperate small talk until their drinks were delivered and their food orders were taken then Blythe turned to her husband the moment the waiter was out of earshot.

"John!" she snapped and both House and Wilson gave her slightly startled looks while John actually _did_ wince.

The older man's expression became rather chagrined as he looked over at his son.

"Greg, I…" He sighed deeply. "I'm not disappointed in you. I never have been. You're a fine man and a fine doctor. A man would a fool not to be proud of you and I'd like to think I'm not a fool."

House actually looked a little startled at that then he nodded awkwardly. "Thanks," he muttered then his face hardened. "But you don't like that I sleep with men…with James."

John looked uncomfortable. "I…no, not really."

House's head reared back slightly. "Then you have a problem," he said frostily. "James…in my life is non-negotiable. At least until I piss him off enough and he leaves."

Wilson snorted; feeling unaccountably warmed by House's declaration. It was probably the closest he was going to get to declaration of love from the man. "After all this time, that's hardly likely."

John grimaced and took a long drink from his beer. "Give me a break, Greg," he said almost irritably. "It was the way I was raised and the way things worked in the military. I can't just…throw that away in one go."

"But you don't intend to try," House said mulishly.

"I didn't say that," John snapped and Wilson had a sudden vision of what dinner around the House table must have been like at times.

"Greg, give your father time…_please_," Blythe begged, placing one hand over one of House's and gripping it tightly. She seemed to be almost willing him to agree.

Wilson leaned over and murmured into House's ear, "Greg, he's apologised and is willing to try and change. You could be a little more gracious." He paused then lowered his voice a little further. "I'll make it worth your while."

House's gaze flickered over to Wilson and a small smile flickered across his face.

"Bribery?" he said with muted amusement.

"It usually works so well," Wilson replied with a smile.

"True," House replied then he looked over at his father and nodded.

Blythe had watched this interaction between the two of them with an indulgent smile and John had alternately watched his wife and his son and Wilson with a thoughtful, if slightly awkward, expression.

"I'll…try," John said uncomfortably.

Wilson nudged House's foot under the table and got a quick glare for his trouble. At the same time Blythe squeezed Greg's hand and gave him an imploring look.

"Greg…" she said quietly.

House shot them both exasperated looks then rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he said brusquely to his Dad.

John seemed to take this in the spirit it was meant rather than going by the tone because he nodded in return and relaxed a bit in his chair. Both Blythe and Wilson gave sighs of relief and Blythe gave Greg's hand another squeeze before letting go.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the four then the waiter arrived with their meals and Wilson asked Blythe about their trip. That seemed to thaw most of the remaining ice and the rest of the meal was spent discussing not just Blythe and John's recent trip but other places they had been. Nevertheless when the meal finally came to an end there was a certain amount of relief on both sides that it was over.

"That…went better than I thought it would," Wilson observed as they walked back to his car.

House snorted. "You're optimistic."

Wilson shot him a look. "You don't think your Dad is actually going to try?"

"I'd be surprised," House said flatly.

"I think you underestimate your Mom," Wilson replied with a smile. "How many times did she snap your name like that when you were a kid?"

That brought a smile to House's face. "Quite a few," he admitted.

"Did it work on you?" Wilson asked with a grin.

"Mostly," House replied.

"Give your Dad a chance," Wilson said quietly. "He's ex-military and he's old."

They'd reached his car by this stage and House was silent as they got in. Wilson was just about to start the car when House placed a hand on his thigh.

"I meant what I said about us. Given a choice between you and my Dad, I'm picking you," he said with a mix of intensity and discomfort. "And you know I'm possessive."

Wilson smiled warmly at him. "Well, I don't think it's going to come to that given what happened tonight. And I meant what _I_ said; if you haven't scared me off by now, I can't see it happening in the future."

House stared at him for a moment longer then settled back in his seat with a satisfied expression, leaving his hand where it was. Wilson started the car and pulled out into the traffic; the choice between himself and his father was one he devoutly hoped House would never have to make.


	105. Lightning

**068. Lightning**

**(Just a note – This ficlet is not part of the Christmas story arc!)**

House Call

The storm began with a rumble of thunder and the sudden crack of a lightning bolt hitting the ground to House's left. The surprise of it caused his hands to jerk and the bike to slew across the road and it was just his good luck that the country road was empty of other cars right now. Almost immediately on the heels of the lightning bolt, the rain started pelting down. It almost seemed as though someone had tipped a bucket full of water over the place.

House grimaced then flinched as another lightning bolt slammed into the ground, this time to his right. It left a strange, crawling feeling in the air and he began to feel like he'd made a very bad decision to go riding this afternoon. He squinted through the rain and slowed the bike down, the last thing he needed was to have an accident. Apart from the whole pain and inconvenience part of it, Wilson would have a field day saying 'I told you so'. A smile flickered briefly across House's face at that thought; Wilson always looked…he didn't want to use the word but it was the only one that really fit…_adorable_ when he was doing his exasperated disapproval act.

Another lightning bolt cracked through the air followed by a deafening rumble of thunder and House hunched slightly on the motorbike. He really needed to get off the road before either a lightning bolt hit him, a car hit him or he slid off the road. He'd driven up this road a number of times since he'd gotten the bike and he was fairly sure he wasn't far off a small town where he'd often stopped for a coffee. The town had a small motel where he could stop until the rain eased enough to let him get home.

Five minutes later his memory proved correct when the first signs indicating the town loomed out of the rain-darkened landscape. By this stage House was soaked, his clothes plastered against his skin, and he'd been startled once more by a lightning strike close to where he was riding. If he were a paranoid man, he'd have said the lightning was out to get him. He shook that thought out of his mind as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel and gingerly climbed off the bike. He grabbed his cane and quickly limped into the reception area of the motel and rang the bell on the desk, pulling off his helmet as he did so.

An elderly man came out of the back room, wiping his hands on a cloth and looking over his shoulder.

"How can I help…"

The man's voice trailed off as he turned to face House then he chuckled, his gaze seeming to take in everything at once.

"Well, you do a good drowned rat impression, son. Room three's available. I've probably got a clean robe back here somewhere and my wife'll be happy to throw your clothes in the dryer if you like. M'name's Clem, by the way."

House was a bit thrown by the unexpected offer. "Thanks, Clem," he said with surprise.

The old man chuckled as he turned to the computer and slowly tapped at the keyboard. "You ain't the first who's come in here caught by a storm. Name, son?"

"House. Gregory House."

The old man tapped that laboriously into the computer as House fidgeted in his wet clothes, getting colder and more uncomfortable. The old man caught this out of the corner of his eye.

"Damn computers," he muttered. "Ain't never been good with 'em. Tell you what, son, give me your credit card and I'll get that side done while you write your details down. Ain't no reason why you've got to stand here freezing your butt off."

House quickly dug his wallet out of his back pocket and handed over a credit card, taking the pen and paper the old man offered in return. He quickly scrawled down the information needed then signed the credit card slip. The old man then handed over the key and told him he'd come round in a minute with the robe and pick up House's wet clothes.

House limped along the covered walkway, eyeing the continuing storm with displeasure until he got to his room. He let himself in and was impressed with what he found. The room was small but it was scrupulously clean and furnished with all the usual suspects you'd expect to find. He ignored it all as dumped his helmet on the table and headed for the bathroom where he awkwardly pulled off his clothes. He hung the leather jacket on the back of the door then wrapped a towel around his waist and picked up his sodden clothes. A knock came at the door and he carried the clothes out into the room, fumbling a little with both the clothes and his cane. He dumped the clothes on the small table then cracked the door open a fraction.

"Found a robe, son," said the old man. "Let me have those wet clothes."

House opened the door and accepted the white terry cloth robe, draping it over the chair before handing over his wet clothes.

"Thanks for this," he said gruffly.

"No problems," the old man said with a grin. "Be about an hour."

With that the old man shuffled off and House shut the door. He grabbed the robe, which actually looked like it might be a little too big even for him, and headed for the bathroom again. He still felt cold and clammy and his leg was aching badly. He fished his bottle of Vicodin out of his jacket pocket and quickly downed one. He tipped a second pill into his hand and debated the matter for several minutes before swallowing that one as well. His leg hurt and if he felt like he couldn't drive, well, he already had a room for the night.

House turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, noticing for the first time that he'd been given a room with hand rails in the bathroom. He grumbled for a moment at that then shrugged it off. Clem was just being helpful and he did actually need them sometimes; that was why Wilson had installed them in his bathroom in the first few days after he'd been released from hospital after the infarction.

He stood for a long time under the hot water, mostly letting it beat down on his neck and shoulders, only climbing out when his good leg began to complain about standing for so long. He dried off and wrapped the robe around himself, raising an eyebrow as he realised that it really _was_ too big for him. He grabbed his cane, his bottle of Vicodin and his cell phone and limped out into the room, easing himself down onto the bed. He propped his cane against the bedside table and settled himself comfortably before hitting the speed dial on his phone.

"Hey, Wilson," he said lazily when his friend answered.

"Jesus, House! Where are you?" Wilson demanded, sounding both relieved and frantic.

House raised an eyebrow as he grabbed the remote off the bedside table and turned on the TV, thumbing the volume down and flicking through the channels until he found a Discovery channel show he'd seen before. He then tossed the remote back onto the bedside table.

"Why? Has someone died? I don't have a patient last time I looked."

"House, I was worried about _you_," Wilson said angrily. "It's pouring and you're out on that damn bike! There have been lightning strikes and at least four accidents bad enough to be reported on the radio. Where are you? Are you alright?"

A slow smile curved House's lips.

"I'm fine," he said, letting that smile colour his voice. "I'm at a motel."

He heard the sigh of relief from the other end of the phone.

"You're going to stay there?" Wilson asked, his voice much calmer.

"Yeah, for now," House replied. "It's still raining and Clem's wife is drying my clothes."

He approved of the baffled silence he got for that comment and grinned to himself.

"Who's Clem?" Wilson asked carefully.

"The guy who runs the motel," House replied. "Apparently I was doing a good impression of a drowned rat. Steve'll be pleased."

"And his wife is drying your clothes?" Wilson asked carefully.

"Yep," House replied. "Clem's a real friendly guy."

Wilson finally laughed and House smiled at the sound of it in his ear, his mood shifting almost instantly.

"You should come and join me," he said in a low, heated voice. "It's a nice room. The bed's comfy."

There was a moment of silence before Wilson spoke again.

"I wish I could. Are you in bed?"

House felt himself relax at the question; Wilson was going to play along.

"Lying on the bed," he corrected. "Clem found a robe for me. Must have belonged to a giant because it's big on me."

Wilson chuckled and House heard the sound of a door closing through the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"In my office," Wilson replied.

"Locked the door?"

"Yeah," Wilson said a little breathlessly then he laughed self-consciously. "We're not really going to do this, are we?"

"You could always come and join me," House suggested as he wriggled down on the bed a bit more.

"I can't," Wilson said, sounding a little frustrated. "There's a board meeting tonight. Besides, it's insane out there."

"Then we can do this," House replied lazily. "What do you want me to do?"

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone then Wilson said hoarsely, "Is the robe tied up?"

"Mm-hm," House replied.

"Undo it and open it," Wilson ordered.

House propped the phone between his ear and shoulder as he did as Wilson asked. He then took the phone in his hand again.

"Done. What now?"

"Are you hard?" Wilson said, his voice a mix of embarrassed and aroused.

House glanced down at himself. "Mostly. Took a couple of Vicodin but the pain was enough to burn off most of it. Keep going. I'll get there."

Wilson took a deep breath and House heard the sound of shifting cloth.

"Run your fingers around your right nipple," Wilson said intently. "Nothing else, just that."

"'Kay," House replied his voice becoming just the tiniest bit shaky as he slowly dragged his fingertips across his nipple, shivering at the sensation.

"You like that," Wilson said. It was not a question.

"Yeah," House said in a low voice, answering it anyway.

"Wish I could see it," Wilson said. "Wish I could kiss you."

"Later. Tomorrow. Whenever this rain stops and I can get back," House said, swallowing hard.

"Switch over to your other nipple," Wilson said suddenly. "Don't touch anything else."

House let a sharp laugh as he obeyed, slowly circling his nipple, his hips twitching slightly as he sensation ran straight down to his groin.

"You tease, Jimmy."

He got a throaty laugh down the phone and his dick twitched at the sound.

"You love it when I tease," Wilson said with amusement.

"Yeah," House said fervently, his breathing rate picking up slightly. "Christ, Jimmy."

He heard a low moan from Wilson and he was surprised when it dragged an answering moan from his own throat.

"Jimmy," House said in something which was _definitely_ not a plea.

"Run your hand down your stomach…slowly…then along the inside of your thigh," Wilson ordered hoarsely.

House let his hand drift down his stomach then along his hip. It took every ounce of his self-control to bypass his now very hard cock and trail his fingers along his inner thigh. He shifted absently on the bed, spreading his legs slightly and making a strangled noise. He heard a low muttered curse from the other end of the phone and the sound of shifting material again.

"Whatcha doing, Jimmy?" he said with a mix of lazy amusement and arousal. "You jerking off in your office?"

"Yeah," came the hoarse answer.

An image of what that would look like seared its way through House's mind and he whispered a low, "Fuck!" His free hand clenched into a fist against his thigh as he momentarily struggled for control.

"Play with your balls," Wilson ordered, his voice sounding a touch breathless.

House shifted his hand eagerly and moaned as he rolled the soft sac around in his hand. His head fell back against the bedstead and he panted, his hips moving almost involuntarily.

"Fuck, Jimmy," he gasped. "So good…feels so good."

"Can you come just from that?" Wilson asked intently.

House shuddered. "N…no. Not…not enough. Not now. Need…need more."

"What do you need?"

"Ungh, more than this," House said with a moan.

"_What do you need_?" Wilson demanded. "Tell me."

"Need you!" House gasped. "Need you, Jimmy. Your hand, your mouth, anything!"

He heard a deep groan from the other end of the phone then the sound of soft swearing.

"Wish I could," Wilson said roughly. "Wrap your hand around your dick but don't move it."

House did that and tried unsuccessfully to stifle something that definitely _wasn't_ a whine.

"Jimmy," he demanded.

"What?" Wilson said, his voice tense but amused.

"_Jimmy,_" House said again.

"Say it," Wilson demanded.

"_Please_!" House growled. "Fuck, Jimmy! _Please_!"

"You can move your hand," Wilson said quickly. "Keep it nice and slow."

House moaned as he started slowly moving his hand. Something hot and feral was curling in his belly and he knew that in spite of the pain and the Vicodin he'd taken, he _was_ going to be able to come, not something that was always possible. Then his attention was captured when Wilson began speaking again.

"Can't believe I'm jerking off in my office," Wilson said, his voice taut and tense with arousal. "Haven't done this in years. Going to need to take a shower before the damn board meeting tonight or everyone's going to know what I've been doing. Wish I was with you. Wish I could see you, touch you. Wish that was my hand wrapped around your dick. Or my mouth. Fuck, Greg, I love blowing you. Rather have you buried up to your balls in my arse though, pounding away, giving me something to remember during the meeting every time I shift in my seat."

Wilson suddenly broke off with a low groan that House recognised and it was that as much as the words or his own hand on his dick that had him coming with an inarticulate cry, semen spurting up onto his stomach and chest. He slumped back against the bedstead, his hand falling to his side and he gasped for breath, hearing that echoed down the phone.

"When did you develop the ability to talk dirty like that?" House said as soon as he was able to summon enough brain power.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Wilson replied with a breathless laugh. "I take it you liked it?"

"Definitely," House said with satiated amusement. "And I know what we're doing now the next time one of us has to go to a conference."

He got another laugh then Wilson swore.

"Just as well I have a spare shirt here," Wilson said with a sigh.

House chuckled. "Now that's a mental image I like. Next time you jerk off in your office I want to be there to watch."

"Jesus, Greg," Wilson said after a brief moment of silence then he said hurriedly, "Only if you reciprocate."

House felt a flash of arousal run through him. "Yeah, okay," he replied.

"Damn," Wilson said suddenly. "I have to go. The meeting's in forty minutes and I really need to clean up." He paused and laughed. "You'd better clean up too. _Clem_ will be back with your clothes soon."

House shifted slightly upright and grinned. "So much for the afterglow."

"Get back here and I'll show you afterglow," Wilson replied and House could hear him moving around. "When will you be back?"

"I'll wait until the rain stops," House replied. "The roads were pretty slippery and contrary to _your_ opinion, I'm not stupid on the bike."

There was a slight pause then Wilson said, "Good. Let me know."

"Sure," House said then he hung up.

He tossed the phone onto the bed beside him and smiled lazily as he listened to the sound of the rain outside.


	106. Blue 2

**You may start seeing repeats of previous prompts. This is because I originally started writing these little ficlets for the housefic50 challeneg on LiveJournal but I was on the waiting list. Well, my claim is up now and I decided I wanted to write some new fics for the prompts, hence the repeats.**

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**015. Blue**

Make My Brown Eyes Blue

Wilson wandered into House's office, one eyebrow going up at the amused look on his friend's face and wondering what on earth had put it there.

"Having fun?" he asked mildly as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Oodles," House replied with an air of amused anticipation.

Wilson eyed House carefully, his suspicions growing by the minute. "What's going on?" he asked carefully.

"Who says anything's going on?" House said innocently.

"That innocent look doesn't work on me," Wilson said bluntly. "You're _way_ too cheerful." He glanced around towards the conference room and found it devoid of ducklings. "Alright, what have you done to them?"

House gave him another one of those patently false innocent looks. "I haven't done anything to them. Foreman and Cameron are off making sure our patient doesn't try and run away again and Chase is down in the clinic."

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he stared at House. Suspicion wasn't so much growing in his mind as running through it, setting up campsites and throwing protest rallies, waving placards saying 'He's up to something!'

House just stared back at him, all wide-eyed and extremely false innocence, a smile playing around the edges of his lips.

Suddenly Wilson's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "House? What…your eyes!"

The grin that had threatening broke out on House's face and started laughing. "Took you long enough!"

Wilson stared at House's brown…_brown!_…eyes, feeling utterly flabbergasted and oddly unsettled. House looked decidedly strange with brown eyes.

"What…" he stammered. "They're…contact lenses, right?"

House laughed again. "Yep."

"_Why_?" Wilson asked, starting to recover a little.

"Why not?" House replied airily as he leaned back in his chair. "It's fun."

"I don't like them," Wilson blurted out before he could think about what he was saying.

House gave him a look of surprise. "Why not?" he asked, sounding a little hurt. "They're just coloured lenses."

"I…no reason," Wilson stammered, desperately trying to backtrack since he wasn't entirely _sure_ why he didn't like them…or rather he was fairly sure he _did_ know why he didn't like the lenses but he _really_ didn't want to think about it.

House gave him a speculative look then his face relaxed into a slow, slightly triumphant smile that made Wilson extremely nervous.

"You don't like the lenses?" he said casually.

"I…no…what does it matter," Wilson replied uncomfortably. "You said you're wearing them for fun."

"Well, yeah, but apparently they have another purpose as well," House replied.

"To allow you to be cryptic?" Wilson countered, trying to steer the conversation to more hospitable climes.

House ignored that and eyed Wilson with that speculation from before and now growing interest. He curled one hand around the handle of his cane and got to his feet, limping around until he was standing in front of Wilson.

"You don't like my eyes being brown," he stated. "You like them blue."

"I…what…what does it matter?" Wilson stammered.

"You like them blue," House repeated bluntly.

Wilson looked everywhere except at his friend. "I…yes. Alright, _yes_, I like your eyes blue. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," House replied as he reached out and grabbed Wilson's tie, pulling on it until Wilson stood up then yanking him forward.

"House!" Wilson protested as he stumbled forward so that he wouldn't be choked and trying to catch himself on the desk and House himself in an attempt to not crash into his friend's leg.

He ended up plastered against House with one arm wrapped tightly around his waist and the other braced against the desk. Somewhere during the manoeuvre, House had let go of his tie and had returned the favour by wrapping one of _his_ arms around Wilson's waist and he now grabbed the front of Wilson's shirt in his free hand.

Wilson now had a close-up view of House's eyes and the only thought that kept running through his mind is that the brown was just _wrong_ and that they should be blue. He tried to hang onto this thought but being plastered against House's body in the manner he was along with the look in House's unnaturally brown eyes was rapidly derailing it and causing other, more interesting thoughts to rise.

Wilson's sharp, indrawn breath seemed to settle something for House because he grinned lecherously.

He then leaned in and kissed him. Wilson froze for a long moment until the reality of those warm lips on his hit home then, with a small whimper, he removed the hand that had been braced against the desk and slid it around the back of House's neck, returning and deepening the kiss. How long they stayed like that he couldn't tell but far sooner than he liked, House was pulling away. He made a small noise of protest then opened his eyes to be greeted with a something he wanted to see _a lot_ more. House's lips were wet and swollen from the seemingly endless kiss and his shockingly brown eyes were full of lazy pleasure.

"I'll take 'em out tonight and you can tell me how much you like my eyes," House said, batting his eyes outrageously.


	107. Touch 2

**038. Touch**

Right to Touch

Wilson lay on his side in the wide bed, a small half-smile on his face. Next to him lay House, sprawled on his back, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never was when he was awake. Wilson knew he should sleep, that he had work tomorrow that he needed to be at his best for. But he was currently in a place he's always wanted to be but never quite believed would actually happen.

The smile broadened slightly as he remembered the argument that had led to this. It wasn't a particularly profound one; it might have made more sense if it had been. Instead it had one of their occasional arguments about House's persistent habit of mixing Vicodin with alcohol. Wilson could never really work out why he could sit here drinking beer with House for weeks and then get agitated about it on other nights. Maybe it had something to do with work or maybe it just built up over the weeks until he reached a critical mass. Whatever caused it, tonight it had taken a bit of a curve down a completely unexpected path.

In the middle of the argument, House had tried to get past him and he placed his hand on House's chest. His hand had been a bit off centre and with the movement he'd been trying to stop, his fingers had brushed over one of House's nipples. With his hand on House's chest, he caught the small but sharp intake of breath and being so close and already looking House in the face, he'd seen the flash of lust and want that flickered through House's eyes before it was well-hidden again.

Wilson had had something of an epiphany at that point and rather than dwell on it and potentially talk himself out of it, he'd stepped forward until he was pressed against House, his hand now trapped between their bodies. House's breath had caught again and Wilson saw that want and lust flare in House's eyes again, this time accompanied by desire, uncertainty and hope. He then kissed House and…well, the next couple of hours were a bit of a blur.

So now he was where he wanted to be with apparently full rights to touch the man lying beside him however he wanted. He reached out and his hand hovered just over House's chest. He wanted to touch. The selfish part that was crowing about its victory wanted to touch and keep touching. But the more rational part of him, the part that knew that House didn't sleep well at the best of times, kept him from touching, not wanting to risk waking the other man.

He gave a start when House reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down so that it rested on his chest. He looked over and saw that House's eyes were closed though from the tiny smirk, he seemed to be fairly amused.

"Go to sleep," House said, his voice a sleepy rumble that Wilson could feel where his hand was resting.

Wilson smiled then slid his hand around House's chest until he was sprawled against his side. He got a grumble of complaint from House but he couldn't help but notice that his lover pulled him a bit closer even as he was grumbling. Wilson lay there, listening as House fell asleep again and letting himself slowly fall asleep as well.


	108. Sweat 2

**041. Sweat**

Answers and Consequences

Sweat gathered on Wilson's top lip and he absently licked it off as he stared down at the cane that was pinning him to the wall of his office. It was safer to look there. Safer than looking at the blue eyes that were filled with an intense question he wasn't sure he wanted to answer. He _knew_ the answer; he just wasn't sure he wanted to speak it aloud. It would change things, end things, start things. Take him out of the safe place he'd lived his life and into something far less defined, far more risky…and maybe far better.

"Look at me," House growled.

Wilson slowly raised his gaze from the end of the cane to the man standing in front of him. His breath caught at the myriad of emotions that were visible in House's normally guarded eyes.

"Answer me," House said, still in that growl.

Wilson hesitated; he wanted more time to think about this, consider the consequences, but it seemed House had had enough and wasn't going to let him have that time. He was still staring into House's eyes and as his hesitation stretched, he saw the hurt and despair start to appear and all of a sudden he knew. He could debate the consequences all he liked but one thing was certain. This was likely going to be his only chance. If he said no or wait or can I think about it, it would be gone, never to return.

He felt the pressure from the cane start to lessen and House started to move and Wilson reached forward and grabbed House's t-shirt.

"Yes," he yelped before taking a deep breath and repeating that in a calmer voice. "Yes."

House froze and stared at him for a long moment. Wilson stared back, letting his face relax into warm amusement. House stared a moment longer then he lowered his cane and stepped forward, pressing his body against Wilson's and leaning forward to kiss him.

Wilson moaned at the combination of the feel of House's warm body and the sensation of House's lips against his, House's stubble brushing his face, House's hands pulling his shirt out of his pants and sliding up the sides of his body.

House's mouth worked its way along his jaw and up to the sensitive skin under his ear, biting down gently then licking the abused skin as their hips met, erections rubbing together instinctively. It took several moments for Wilson to realise that House was tugging at his suit jacket and he shifted enough to allow House to pull it off. His tie disappeared a moment later then House was hastily undoing the buttons of his shirt. He was about to protest when House's mouth shifted again and closed on one of his nipples and his protest turned into a choked, inarticulate cry.

Wilson buried one hand into House's hair while the other plucked at the other man's shirt. House pulled away long enough to yank his own shirt off then he was back, skin against skin, mouth claiming Wilson's fiercely. Wilson ran his hands up House's back, for once not even registering the differences in musculature as he returned the kiss.

He felt House's hands undoing his belt and pants and, as any protests he might have had had died the moment House attacked his nipple, he eagerly returned the favour, yanking down House's jeans and boxers as far as he could. He moaned and his head fell back against the wall with a muted thunk when House closed his hand around both of their cocks. House seemed to take this as an invitation to molest his neck and Wilson could do nothing more than whimper and mutter incoherent words as he thrust into House's hand, his hands burying themselves into House's hair again.

He felt his orgasm building and he gasped a warning, "Greg!"

House growled and captured his mouth again, his hand speeding up and pulling them both into completion. Wilson slumped against the wall, feeling the sweat on his back, and House collapsed against him, burying his face in his neck.

Wilson let one hand drift down to stroke House's back soothingly. He knew they'd both have to move soon for various reasons but for now he wanted to stay where they were. While they were here he didn't have to think about the consequences of the decision he'd just made.


	109. Prize

**This one isn't one of the one word prompt ficlets, it is a prize fic for one of my readers on LiveJournal. The prompt was the Leonard Cohen quote at the start of the fic. It is also my first attempt at writing first person.

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****Real Life**

"_I don't consider myself a pessimist. I think of a pessimist as someone who is waiting for it to rain. And I feel soaked to the skin." – Leonard Cohen_

I try not to focus on them too much, my feelings for Wilson. Or at least my feelings other than friendship. There's enough pain in my life as it is, I really don't see the need to introduce even more. And yet on nights like this, when I've had the day from hell at the hospital, my leg hurts both because of that and the damnable weather, I've had perhaps one Vicodin too many and one drink too many and Wilson is…otherwise engaged that I find it hard to keep those thoughts away.

I want him. When he stands in my office with that pristine white lab coat and those excruciating ties, his hands on his hips and that small exasperated smile on his face, I want to limp over and shove him against the wall and kiss him until he moans. I know what he looks like under that lab coat, under the suits and neatly pressed shirts. I've seen him in the change rooms before surgery. And in the early days of my recovery, after Stacy left and before I could manage on my own, he used to get in the shower with me to help. I hated it and loved it. Hated that I needed the help, hated that he saw the wreckage of my thigh, hated that I couldn't take a fucking shower on my own. But god, I loved it. Loved looking at his body, loved that I could have that moment of contact with his bare skin when I braced myself with a hand on his shoulder, loved it when he'd steady me with his hands resting on my naked skin. Only the pain and the drugs kept him from knowing how I felt.

I need him. God, I hate admitting that, even in the silence of my own mind, but it's true. I need him to come into my office and banter with me, argue with me, chastise and berate me, remind me that I'm human. I need him to worry about me, about my leg, about my addiction, because I can't. I need him to be there, to be someone I can lean on. I need his smile, the rare touch of his hand, his caring and god forbid, those wretched ties of his. I think he wears them deliberately, to give me something to snark at. He always gets this look in his eyes when I start in on them, like he's secretly delighted that I noticed.

I love him. Fuck, that was hard to even think. I don't know if I could ever say it out loud, not even to him. But I feel it. I wish I didn't. I wish I could love Cameron. Hell, I sometimes wish I could love Cuddy. I loved Stacy, still do in some ways. She's still beautiful, still so fucking sexy, still standing up to me and not letting me get away with anything. That's what drew me to her at first. First time I asked her out, she blew me off, told me I was an ass and she got better offers at the local bus stop. I couldn't stop laughing; she got me with that one. First time I realised I loved her was in the middle of an argument. First time I realised I hated her was when I woke up after the surgery and found out what had been done and what that meant for me. I can't remember the first time I realised I loved Wilson. Is that strange? Maybe I've always loved him. I wish I didn't.

I want him to want me, to need me, to love me. Might as well wish for my leg back, for the pain to stop. He's gone out with his latest in a _long_ line of women. What was her name? Susan? Sarah? Stephanie? Something beginning with an 'S' anyway. Which is why I'm sitting here at the piano picking out random notes, drinking scotch and thinking maudlin thoughts. I could almost be a fourteen year old girl, the way I'm acting…except for the scotch part. I shouldn't do this. I know I shouldn't. I'm going to end up falling asleep on the sofa. I'll wake up tomorrow with everything hurting more than normal and end up being an even bigger son of a bitch than I normally am. I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. But I already knew that. If I wasn't I'd have let them cut my damn leg off.

"Hey."

I turn around and he's here. Fuck, I didn't even hear him come in, must have been really wallowing in my own misery. God, he looks…fuckable. Yeah, crude but that's just me. He's taken off his tie and suit jacket and tossed them over the back of the sofa. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and he's rolled his sleeves up. His expression is amused and just slightly curious. He's standing beside the couch with his hands in his pockets and damn if _that_ isn't going to fuel some fantasies.

"Thought you were out with Sarah," I say, trying for a sneer but I think I only manage to sound weary.

"Susan," he corrects with a small smile. "It didn't exactly work out."

I snort at that. "She's female with tits out to here and she likes you. How can it not work out?"

He walks over to stand next to me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body and smell his aftershave.

"She's not what I'm looking for."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

He flinches a little at that and I almost want to apologise. Yep, definitely on the maudlin side tonight.

"Since I decided to stop lying to myself."

He looks nervous and determined which is surprisingly…adorable on him. And I can't believe I even thought the word adorable.

"That'll be a first," I say, feeling better.

That's more like it, sarcastic and snarky. There's no way I'm thinking about what he said. It's way too close to a couple of fantasies of mine and I know he doesn't mean it the way I want him to.

Surprisingly he doesn't react to what I said, doesn't even give me that hurt look of his. Instead he looks…tolerantly amused, like I said exactly what he thought I was going to say.

"I knew you were going to make this difficult."

I give him a small grin. "Difficult is my middle name."

He smiles back. "I thought it was John."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "There's a difference?"

He's met my father, even been present for the occasional argument between us. He knows what I mean and he laughs softly. He looks at me indulgently then leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

I can't move. I'm stunned. His lips are warm and soft and feel so good but I can't move. This isn't happening. This _can't_ be happening. He pulls back and I can see the embarrassment, the disappointment and even a little fear on his face. It happened and he thinks I didn't want it.

I reach up and slide a hand behind his neck, pulling his face back down to mine. This time _I_ kiss _him_ and he responds to me greedily. It's better than my fantasies. Probably because it's real but I'm not going to analyse that right now. His mouth is warm and wet and he tastes of coffee and chocolate and Wilson.

When it ends, we part only far enough to breath, our foreheads resting together. My hand is still wrapped around the back of his neck and his are resting on my shoulders.

"Why?"

My voice is barely audible but he hears it. I'm not sure what I'm asking. I'm not sure what answer I want to hear.

"Because I want you. Because I need you. Because I love you."

My eyes close at his answer. If I was a better man, I'd be crying right now. Of all the ways to answer my question, he picked that one. But then again, he's always known how to read me better than anyone else. Maybe he's always known how I felt. Maybe I haven't hidden it as well as I thought I had. Maybe he just needed time to realise what _he_ wanted. Maybe I don't care.

One hand comes up and caresses my face and I can't help but lean into it. I crave his touch. I think he realises this but I know he won't say anything.

Am I really going to get what I want? It hasn't happened very often in my life. And so often when I have gotten what I wanted, it's been ripped away from me or I've driven it…her…away. I'm afraid. Afraid I'll lose this, lose Wilson. I'm afraid to take the risk.

But it seems Wilson isn't. He tilts my head up and kisses me again. Only the third time and I could do this forever. He kisses a path along my jaw and I tilt my head back almost helplessly. When he gets to my ear, he licks the skin just below it and I feel the shiver run through me. He nips me there, just a small one, a bare hint of teeth, and I hear a whimper. I think it's me. He soothes my skin with a lick and a kiss and I hear another whimper. This time I know it's me.

"I'm yours," he whispers in my ear and I shudder. "I'm yours and I'm not letting go. You can't push me away and I won't leave."

My breath catches as he answers the questions I haven't spoken. I grab his head and pull him into another kiss. Hard, searing, possessive. Full of want and need and love. He moans into my mouth and I feel triumphant. Fuck, it sounds just like I thought it would.

I wrench my mouth away from his and this time we _both_ whimper.

"Bed."

How I manage to say that, I don't know. My brain has disappeared and it looks like his has as well. He licks his lips and I nearly decide that the sofa is good enough. Then he turns and heads towards my bedroom. I grab my cane and push myself to my feet so that I can follow him.

I'm going to get what I want, what I need, what I love. Is this real? Am I dreaming? I don't know. I don't care. I don't think I am. I think this is real.


	110. Beginnings 2

**This is a companion piece to the prompt Prize (which is why that one is in this collection). This one is back to third persona nd is from Wilson's POV.

* * *

****001. Beginnings**

Realisation of Life

Wilson pulled into a parking spot out the front of House's apartment and turned off the engine. He sighed and sat there for a moment, staring out the windscreen at nothing in particular. He couldn't remember the last time a date had been so…awkward. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to ask Susan, a nurse in Paediatrics, out to dinner. He was getting divorced and for once it wasn't his fault, surely he deserved to have a bit of fun and Susan seemed like a good place to start. She was pretty, an excellent nurse and witty to boot.

But somewhere in the middle of the entrée, he'd realised that she wasn't just witty, she was a touch on the sarcastic side and he was bantering with her in much the same way he bantered with House. It was as though _that_ realisation had smashed through his mind like a battering ram, taking down all his walls with it and letting him see the truth he'd been hiding for so long. Susan wasn't just on the sarcastic side of witty, she was also tall, nearly his height, she had brown hair and blue eyes. He wasn't on a date with Susan; he was on a date with the closest thing his subconscious could find to House.

Needless to say, the date became somewhat awkward after that. Not through any fault of Susan's. In fact, while she'd easily picked up on his sudden hesitancy, she'd been kind enough not to push. No doubt she'd taken it for an acute attack of post-separation, or perhaps mid-divorce, nerves. His relief when the dinner finally ended and he'd walked her to her car had far outweighed what had, in spite of his revelation, been quite a pleasant date.

He'd had plenty of time to think on the drive home and he'd been mildly surprised that it had been so easy to come to a conclusion. He wanted House and he was going to get him. He knew how House felt about him so he knew that wouldn't be a problem. He'd known for a long time. He'd just never had the courage to act on it. He'd wanted to be…normal. To be the perfect son for his parents who had been so devastated when his brother had walked out, never to return. But look at the cost of that rousing game of charades. Three ex-wives, all of whom hated him in their own way because he'd never really been able to commit to them. Because he'd never really wanted them. He'd loved them in his own way but he'd wanted…something else. He hadn't really known what until he met House.

Wilson took a deep breath and got out of the car. He had no idea whether it would be easy to convince House or not. He suspected the answer would be not. House liked making things difficult. It was his way of testing whether you really meant what you said, whether you really, _truly_ wanted it enough to make the effort. It was annoying and frustrating but it was all House.

He walked up to the door and pulled out his key, quietly letting himself in. He walked into the living room and sighed. House was sitting at the piano, picking out random notes and, from the slump of his shoulders and the glass of scotch sitting on top of the piano, in a dark mood.

Wilson pulled his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of the sofa, adding his tie a moment later. He undid the top couple of buttons and rolled up his sleeves. He moved to stand beside the sofa, shoving his hands in his pockets. House didn't seem to realise he was there so he stood and watched the other man for a moment. He didn't really know what House was beating himself up about this time but he though it was about time he stopped.

"Hey," he said quietly, letting his amusement and his curiosity show a little.

As he watched, House started and turned to look at him. Just for a moment, Wilson saw House's eyes widen then he settled into his usual slightly sarcastic expression.

"Thought you were out with Sarah?" House said in a tone that was clearly trying to be a sneer.

Wilson gave a small smile; in any other person he might have labelled that casual interest. In House he wasn't sure but for his own purposes he was going to call it jealously.

"Susan," he corrected almost automatically before continuing wryly, "It didn't exactly work out."

House snorted. "She's female with tits out to here and she likes you. How can it not work out?"

Wilson definitely didn't want to answer that question just yet so he walked over and stood next to House, noting with satisfaction the minute reactions from the other man.

"She's not what I'm looking for," he said, stopping just short of making that a challenge.

"When has that ever stopped you?" House said sharply.

Wilson flinched; that was a little too close to the bone for his liking right now. He was well aware of the many mistakes he'd made in the past but right now he had no intention of responding to House's baiting. He had bigger fish to fry so he let that one go.

"Since I decided to stop lying to myself," he said with a mix of nerves and determination. He wasn't sure whether House would read into that what he wanted him to.

Apparently he hadn't since his only response was, "That'll be a first."

Wilson sighed and looked amused. This wasn't exactly going the way he'd hoped it would, which probably just about summed up most of his dealings with House.

"I knew you were going to make this difficult," he said wryly.

House grinned at him. "Difficult is my middle name."

It was easy to fall into their normal banter and Wilson let it happen, wanting to settle himself down a bit and see if he could get control of this conversation again.

He smiled back and said, "I thought it was John."

House raised an eyebrow at him. "There's a difference?"

Wilson laughed softly; it was an obvious dig at House's father and quite an accurate one in many ways. Like father, like son was true for the House men though Wilson was fairly sure both would go to their graves denying it. He also realised that the banter was another avoidance tactic and decided to take the bull by the horns. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to House's.

He didn't try to deepen the kiss, waiting to see what House's reaction would be. After a few moments he started to pull back. House hadn't moved and he wondered whether he'd made a phenomenal mistake, wondered whether he'd completely misread the tiny signals House had been sending for years, wondered whether he'd just destroyed his most valued friendship.

Just as he was wondered that last, House moved. He slid his hand around the back of Wilson's neck and pulled him back down, kissing him passionately. Wilson responded greedily, relief flooding through him for a moment before its place was taken by desire, lust and a certain giddy happiness.

When they finally separated, they didn't move far and ended up with their foreheads resting against each other. Wilson's eyes were closed and his hands were resting on House's shoulders.

"Why?"

House's voice was barely audible and Wilson could hear a wealth of questions in that one simple word. For a moment he debated how to answer, which question to answer then he smiled softly. He knew how to respond; by answering those thing he'd seen for brief moments in House's eyes over the years.

"Because I want you. Because I need you. Because I love you."

Wilson felt House shudder under his hands and he brought one hand up to gently caress one stubbled cheek, relishing the moment when House leaned into the caress. He could almost hear the thoughts and doubts and fears running rampant inside House's head and decided to put an end to them…at least for the moment.

He tilted House's head up and kissed him again, a warm, sweet kiss that seemed to last forever. Then he decided to explore, running a line of kisses along House's jawline. House's head tilted back almost involuntarily and Wilson smiled at that, turning his attention to sensitive skin just below House's ear. He licked the skin there, smiling again at the shiver that induced in the other man then he nipped at the skin, barely letting his teeth make contact, more a promise than a bite. House whimpered at that and Wilson felt a shiver run through his own body at the thought of having drawn that sound from House. He pressed a soothing kiss to the skin he'd just nipped and grinned at the second whimper.

Wilson shifted his mouth so that it was right next to House's ear and whispered, "I'm yours. I'm yours and I'm not letting go. You can't push me away and I won't leave."

He heard House's breath catch at that declaration and then House grabbed him and dragged him into a hard, searing, possessive kiss, full of want and need and love. Wilson moaned; it was the kiss he'd been wanting for a long time without even being aware of it and now he wanted more.

House wrenched his mouth away and they both whimpered then he whispered, "Bed."

Wilson somehow managed to push himself upright and he licked his lips. He saw something flicker through House's eyes at that then he turned and started walking towards the bedroom. He could hear House getting to his feet behind him and then the familiar limping tread. He let a smile grow on his face; he had what he wanted and he wasn't going to let _either_ of them screw this up.


	111. Fear 2

**008. Fear**

Wish I Had

House struggled to control his breathing as the woman's surprisingly strong arm tightened warningly against his neck. Most of his attention was on the gun in her other hand, the one that was pointing with unerring accuracy at Wilson.

She was dressed as a patient and House could only assume the gun had, at one point, belonged to security guard. At least he hoped it had once belonged to a security guard. He didn't want to think about where it came from if it hadn't. All of that in combination with her initial raving when she'd burst into his office led him to the conclusion that she was an escapee from the psych ward and when this was all over he intended to have a sharp word with the doctors and nurses on that floor about the importance of keeping an eye on their patients…especially the ones who were likely to steal guns and brandish them at other, more innocent doctors.

She'd moved with surprising swiftness when she'd burst in, taking both of them by surprise. House had been limping back and forth in his office, snarking about his latest patient, his ducklings, Cuddy and whatever else came to mind while Wilson lounged in a chair in front of his desk and laughed. The woman had burst in, assessed the situation in a second then grabbed House and dragged him over into one corner, knocking his cane away as she did so. She dragged him around so he was in front of her, wrapped one startlingly strong arm around his throat and pointed the gun at Wilson. He'd seen the flurry of movement in the other room and could only hope that help was on the way.

The woman's arm tightened again and House grabbed at it as he choked.

"Shut up!" she snapped into his ear, her voice full of confusion, anger and fear.

House scrabbled at her arm again. "Can't breathe," he gasped.

The arm loosened slightly and House let go, dragging in some deep breaths. He looked over at Wilson and saw the fear and worry in his friend's eyes and was fairly sure his were reflecting the same thing.

Wilson took a deep breath and held his hands out, palms up, in a placating gesture. "It's alright. It's okay. What can we do for you?"

The woman flicked a glance out of the office where there was a crowd gathering just down the corridor.

"What can you do?" she snapped with a bitter, slightly deranged laugh. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you and your friend here?"

"They'll send you to jail," Wilson replied; it was obviously the first thing he could come up with.

The woman gave another one of those bitter, slightly deranged laughs. "No, they won't. Try again. Better yet," she said, nudging House's bad leg with her knee. "You try. Why shouldn't I kill him?"

"Because he's a better person than you'll ever be," House snapped as his leg throbbed with pain.

The woman's laugh was rather hollow this time as she thumbed the safety off on the gun. "Tell me something I don't know. Try again."

House tensed a little when he saw what she'd done. He didn't know why she was here in the psych ward but she clearly knew her way around a gun. He looked up and saw the same knowledge reflected in Wilson's eyes.

"There's a lot of people here who'll die if you kill him," House offered.

The woman nudged his leg again sharply and House gasped.

"I didn't ask why anyone else wouldn't want him killed, I want to know why _you_ don't want him dead," she said, suddenly turning slightly vicious.

House closed his eyes pain washed through him; he _really_ had to find a way to stop her whacking his leg.

"He's my friend," he said quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

The woman was silent for a moment. "I remember what it was like to have friends," she said wistfully. Her arm tightened fractionally again. "What else? You can get other friends."

House snorted. "You clearly don't know me."

"He's your only friend?" she asked, sounding curious.

"Yeah," House admitted, willing to keep talking if it kept her from shooting Wilson.

He heard the woman give a small, bitter laugh. "You're as bad as me. You care about him?"

House paused and opened his eyes to find Wilson watching him solemnly. "Yeah," he said quietly and he was rewarded by a tiny, warm smile from Wilson.

"Good," the woman said then she glared savagely at Wilson. "What about you? You care about him? Or you going to dump him as soon as it all gets too difficult?"

Wilson's lips quirked into a mirthless smile. "Haven't so far. I don't see any reason why I would in the future. And yes, I care about him."

The woman made a small whimpering sound, something like a sob, but House couldn't see her to tell which it was.

"Wish I had someone who cared," she said, her voice clear and sane for the first time since she'd charged into the room.

Suddenly House felt himself being shoved forward and he stumbled and fell to the ground, pain lashing through him. As that happened he heard the deafening bang of the gun going off and his heart leapt with fear and shock. He scrambled to his knees and looked over to where Wilson had been standing to find…he was still standing there.

House rolled over so that he was sitting on the floor, his back against the desk and looked over to the corner. The woman was lying on the ground, the gun still in her hand, blood and brain matter splattered all over the wall and floor.

"House!"

Wilson was crouching next to him, his hands on his shoulders, worry on his face.

"'M fine," House said as he stared at the woman. His gaze drifted over to his friend. "You mean what you said?"

Wilson stilled then he smiled weakly. "Yeah."


	112. Birthday 2

**048. Writer's Choice – Birthday**

Present

House woke slowly. He felt warm, comfortable, slightly sleepy and relatively pain-free and it took nearly five minutes of luxuriating in those feelings for him to remember that he didn't usually feel like that when he woke. That was also about the time he realised that there was a warm body snuggled up next to his own and that the reason he couldn't move his arms was because they were wrapped somewhat possessively around that warm body.

It took him another five minutes of wallowing in the comfortable, relatively pain-free warmness to realise that the body snuggled up to him was male…and it was waking up. It undulated against him briefly and he felt a waking sigh waft across his skin then the body stiffened momentarily in his arms before relaxing again.

"House?" Wilson said sleepily.

"Mmmhmm," House murmured.

"You okay?"

"Mmmm," House hummed with smug satisfaction.

He heard a quiet chuckle from the head resting on his chest. "Good."

There was a moment of silence then Wilson shifted slightly.

"Are planning on letting me go anytime soon?" Wilson asked quietly.

"Hmmmrr…nope," House muttered as he tightened his arms fractionally. "Mine."

There was a moment of silence then another warm chuckle.

"You're going to have to let me go anyway," Wilson murmured, gently stroking House's chest.

"Why?" House said, determinedly clinging to the sleepy warmness.

"Because I need to go pee," Wilson said in a matter-of-fact voice.

House grumbled under his breath then slowly let go enough to allow Wilson to slide out of bed. As the bed shifted, he opened his eyes for the first time and eyed the naked body of his lover with appreciation. Wilson seemed to realise he was being watched because he paused and smiled at House.

"Enjoying your birthday present?" he asked with an enticing mix of coyness and shyness.

House gave a lazy smirk. "Best ever."


	113. Middles 2

**002. Middles**

Habit

Wilson had a habit of waking in the middle of the night. It had started when he was a teenager; he'd wake up when his brother came home, no matter what time of the night it was. Things were looking ominous even then and subconsciously he'd woken every time his brother came home just to reassure himself.

It had continued after he left home, through college, through marriages…after his brother disappeared. He didn't try and do anything about it because it didn't really bother him. He was quite capable of falling asleep again and his various partners over the years had rarely known of this little nocturnal habit of his.

Tonight is the first time he's not indifferent to his habit. He's glad to be awake. House is curled around him, spooning him, his breath coming in soft puffs against the back of Wilson's neck. House's arms are wrapped around him, slightly relaxed in sleep but still tight enough to be called possessive and to be comforting in a way Wilson hadn't felt before.

He sighed happily and snuggled back a little further into House's embrace, smiling when House's arms tightened briefly and he felt the scrape of stubble against his shoulder along with a small, indistinct mumble.

As he closed his eyes again, he reminded himself not to lose this habit. He wanted to wake up like this in the middle of the night more often.


	114. Ends 2

**003. Ends**

Sudden Stop

All things eventually came to an end. Wilson knew this, he was an oncologist and it was a truth he faced everyday. But nothing could prepare you for the death of someone you loved. He knew that too. He saw it everyday. You thought you prepared yourself well but in the end it always, _always_, knocked you for six.

He crouched down next to the headstone and ran his fingers down the writing carved into the stone.

_Gregory House_

_6.11.1959-5.20.2008_

_Healer. Friend. Lover. Son._

He'd always known House would probably die before him. The moment House started mixing alcohol with his Vicodin, the moment he started taking too many pills, Wilson had known that fact. But he'd always expected it would be liver failure or, after House bought the motorcycle, an accident. Once or twice when he'd seen House at his worst, he briefly wondered whether House might one day take his own life.

It was one of the reasons he'd finally taken a chance. After Julie's divorce, after House got shot, it seemed stupid to waste anymore time. When he'd made his move, House had given him this knowing smirk that seemed to say 'what took you so long?'

In the end it had been a stroke that had killed him. Another damn infarction. This one more deadly than the last. House had simply dropped where he'd been standing in front of the whiteboard in the conference room, haranguing his ducklings. He'd been dead before he hit the floor; it had been that sudden and that quick. No chance to save his life, no chance to say goodbye.

Wilson stroked the carved letters again. Oddly enough it had been Foreman who had taken it the hardest. Wilson had never asked him why, honestly hadn't cared at the time. Maybe it was because it had been stroke. Maybe Foreman was wondering what he'd missed, some sign that all wasn't well in House's world, he was a neurologist after all. If he'd known how to find the words, Wilson would have told Foreman to stop beating himself up about it. Strokes could just happen without warning. There were no signs – Wilson would have noticed.

He stroked the words one last time and slowly stood. He looked down at the grave and sighed.

"I miss you," he said quietly before turning and walking away.


	115. Puzzle 2

**009. Puzzle**

Conundrum

There were times when Wilson wondered whether he was just another puzzle to House. They came more often than he really liked and he always thought that if he _was_ a puzzle, he couldn't possibly be a very interesting one. Then the thought would always follow that if he wasn't an interesting puzzle, why did House stick around? He knew the man well enough to know that when House had solved a puzzle, he moved on.

But then House would do something or say something and the thoughts of being nothing more than a puzzle would disappear into the ether, replaced by amusement or exasperation or frustration or even anger.

He felt like a puzzle again tonight though for once that thought didn't rankle. House was lying on top of him, naked, warm and heavy, slowly covering every part of his body with fleeting, teasing touches and quick, maddening kisses and licks and bites. It felt like House was slowly discovering everything there was to know about him, working out every last puzzle, finding the answer to every last question. He writhed under this strangely gentle assault, whispering encouragement and curses with equal intensity and hoped that this was one puzzle House wouldn't discard.


	116. Cane 2

**027. Cane**

Omniscience

"You've got to admit the cane _is_ sexy."

That statement brought Wilson to a sudden halt and he glanced up from the file he was reading to see two nurses huddled just outside the room he was standing in, gossiping with each other. He was about to walk out and break up their impromptu break when the younger of the two nurses giggled.

"Mmm. Combine the cane with the stubble and those _eyes_ and I'd even be willing to overlook the attitude," she said with a wicked grin.

The other nurse snorted and Wilson froze, they clearly hadn't seen him and he was fairly sure he knew they were talking about. Cane, stubble, bad attitude – there weren't many in the hospital who could claim _that_ combination.

"And that's a _big_ and very _bad_ attitude to overlook," the older nurse said sardonically.

"Not to mention that fact that none of us stand a chance anyway," the younger nurse said ruefully. "He's just so obviously taken."

Wilson frowned. House? Taken? Since when?

"Just typical, isn't it?" the older nurse said in agreement. "Two of the sexiest doctors in the whole hospital and they've only got eyes for each other."

Wilson's frown deepened. He hadn't noticed House looking at _anyone_. Unless they meant Cameron but House had seemed adamant that that wasn't going anywhere…

"I always knew there had to be _some_ reason why a man that nice and that good-looking kept getting divorced," the younger nurse said nodding sagely. "I mean, _three_ divorces? Guess he was just in denial."

Wilson's jaw sagged open and he traded the frown in for a flabbergasted expression. Did they mean _him_? And _House_? _Him and House_? He firmly pushed down thoughts of how good that sounded together and took a deep breath, making the decision that it was time to put a stop to this.

"You know what makes it worse?" the older nurse said with wry exasperation and he froze again. "Neither of them has a single clue how the other feels. It's _agonising_ to watch."

"I'd say frustrating, very, _very_ frustrating," the younger nurse said with understanding amusement. "They're both so smart and yet so _dumb_ at the same time. Sometimes I feel like locking them in a small room and not letting them out until they've…"

The older nurse clapped a hand over the younger's mouth and struggled to contain her laughter.

"Do _not_ finish that sentence, Cecile," she giggled. "You will put all sorts of very naughty pictures in my mind and I have to _work_ with Dr Wilson. I can't do that if all I'm thinking about is him and Dr House and what they'd look like naked…_together_."

Cecile laughed, though she kept it fairly quiet. "You're a spoilsport, Rachel," she said when she'd managed to get herself under control again. "Mental images like that are what get me through the hours when Dr House is down in the clinic. It's hard to hate the man when he makes such pretty pictures in my mind."

Rachel smothered her giggles with her hand and slapped at her friend's arm. "Oh, that's not helping at _all_."

"And on that note, I think I'm going to get back to the clinic," Cecile said with a grin.

Rachel gave her friend a mock-scowl and the two women went in their separate directions. Wilson stayed where he was and went over that conversation in his mind several times before he was able to move again. He carefully closed the file in his hands and walked out into the corridor with a small smile on his face. He had a certain scruffy doctor he needed to find; he wanted to test the theory that the nurses really _did_ know everything in the hospital.


	117. Hospital 2

**This is a sequel to Cane 2 - Omniscience so make sure you read that one first.

* * *

****007. Hospital**

There's An Us

Wilson stood outside House's office and watched his friend. House was leaning back in his chair behind his desk, absently twirling his cane and staring at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. He glanced through the glass to the conference room and saw that the whiteboard was clean and there was a noticeable absence of the three usual denizens of that room. Making the assumption that House didn't have a patient and his team was off making themselves useful somewhere else, he pushed the door open and ambled in.

"Wondered how long you were going to stand out there," House said, not removing his gaze from the ceiling or stopping the twirling of his cane.

Wilson sat down and eyed his friend. "Would you say that a hospital is a confined environment where everybody knows more about everyone else than is really normal?"

_That_ got House's attention and Wilson was inwardly amused to see that not only did he now have House's gaze riveted on him instead of the ceiling but he'd also managed to stop the twirling of the cane.

"That revelation only came to you today?" House said with most of his usual sarcasm thought there were definitely hints of curiosity and a bit of wariness.

"Well, not really," Wilson said, slouching down in his seat and managing a casually introspective air. "I just had it brought home to me today, that's all."

House smirked. "I see. And what in particular brought it home to you?"

"I realised the nurses in this place really _do_ know everything," Wilson offered.

House snorted derisively. "I could have told you that. They're everywhere and see everything and they gossip. You want to know the truth about something, ask a nurse."

Wilson smiled in satisfaction. He knew that already, of course, he just wanted House to admit it. It would make it easier in the long run.

"So why do you spend so much time pissing them off?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of his plans for a moment. "Surely they won't share their gossip if you annoy them."

House snorted, twirling his cane again. "I piss them off because I prefer them to do their jobs properly. Besides who says you need to _ask_ them for the gossip. If you know where to go you can listen for free."

That was good segue back into his plans so Wilson took it.

"Mmm, that's a point," he said idly. "That's what I found out today. You get some surprisingly good gossip that way."

House's eyes narrowed and he stopped twirling his cane, letting the end of it thump down to the ground.

"Yeah?" he said, eying Wilson suspiciously, suddenly aware that this actually _was_ leading somewhere.

Wilson leaned back in his chair a little more and laced his fingers together over his stomach, jiggling one foot lightly and ostensibly staring out the window while surreptitiously keeping an eye on House's face.

"They gossip about us, you know?" he said lightly, keeping his amusement at having managed to unsettle House well-hidden.

House snorted though he was still staring at Wilson with narrowed eyes. "Like that's news?"

"No, I mean they gossip about _us_," Wilson replied then he paused a beat before continuing, "Apparently there's an us."

He nearly cheered when House went absolutely still and his face went blank. Then as suddenly as that had happened, House relaxed and what looked like sardonic amusement bloomed in his eyes.

"That's not news either," House said scornfully. "They've been saying that for years. They think that's the only reason why you put up with me."

Wilson raised an indolent eyebrow and was pleased to see the slightly suspicious look return to House's face.

"Actually there's apparently only _kind of_ an us," he clarified.

House blinked again and Wilson approved of the wary, uncertain look in his eyes. He wasn't often able to do something like this to House and he generally enjoyed it when he did.

"Really?" House said warily.

Wilson rather suddenly pushed himself to his feet, noting the twitch that drew before ambling over and closing the office blinds. When he turned back, House was watching him _very_ warily.

"Apparently there should be an us but we're each of us too dumb to notice that the other wants there to be an us," he said brightly.

He watched while House worked his way through that atrociously worded sentence then had to swallow a smile at the myriad of emotions that swept through House's eyes when he had. He ignored the fear-worry-concern-alarm that he'd seen and took heart from the surprise-delight-desire-want-need-joy that had followed it then really _did_ smile when House abruptly shut down. Now _that_ was the reaction he'd been expecting.

He walked over to the desk, pausing briefly then continuing around so that he was standing directly in front of House.

"The nurses in this hospital really do know everything," he said softly. "They always know the truth."

House's eyes widened briefly and the shuttered look was replaced just for a second by hope.

"Did you know that one of the nurses I overheard wants to lock us up in a small room until we get a clue?" Wilson said conversationally as he plucked the cane out of House's hand and rested it against the side of the desk. "And that she gets through the hours you're tormenting everyone in the clinic by imagining you and me together…naked? Apparently that makes it hard for her to hate you."

House blinked and looked something like a rabbit caught in the headlights as Wilson nudged his good leg. House almost automatically spread his legs enough to allow Wilson to move in closer and Wilson smiled warmly as he continued speaking.

"And that the other nurse didn't want to know about that because she has to work with me and she'd never be able to do that if she was picturing us together…naked." He paused and pretended to consider things. "I like that idea, you know? Not the nurse picturing us but us…together…naked."

Deciding that he both liked the tiny gasp that admission wrung out of House and thought that the stunned rabbit look didn't suit his soon-to-be lover at _all_, he leaned forward, braced his hands against the arms of the chair and kissed House. For a long moment, nothing happened and Wilson began to wonder whether the nurses had perhaps made a mistake in this instance then House shifted under him. He felt a hand grab his tie and pull him even closer as House's mouth opened under his, returning the kiss, all warm lips, wet tongue and insane heat.

They only separated when the need to breath became urgent and Wilson gently rested his forehead against House's. In return, House let go of his tie and grabbed his hips, pulling him closer, a tiny smile on his face and a lazy look in his eyes.

"I like the nurses in this hospital," he said idly as he trailed on hand up Wilson's side then slid it over to rest on his chest.

"I'll tell them you said that," Wilson replied, cupping House's face with one hand.

"They'll never believe you," House said with a smirk. "I'm not nice. I don't like anyone."

"Not even me?" Wilson asked with amusement. He already knew what answer he was going to get and didn't intend to pay attention to the words.

"Nope," House replied flippantly but his eyes said something completely different.

"Okay then," Wilson said calmly, letting the look in his eyes give his answer.

"Cool," House said as his hands started undoing the buttons of Wilson's shirt.

Wilson batted them away with a laugh then stepped out of House's range. "Oh no, not here," he said with a grin. "I may like those nurses for bringing certain things to my attention but there is no way I'm feeding their perverse little fantasies."

House pouted. "If we're actually going to do this, I'll thank you not to call it _perverse_."

"It's not perverse," Wilson said with exaggerated patience as he did his shirt buttons up again. "But their fantasies _are_."

"How do you know?" House countered with a smirk. "We should find out. They might be fun."

Wilson stared at him for a moment until he saw the look of mischief on House's face then he rolled his eyes.

"I think we can come up with enough _fun_ on our own," he said in a suggestive tone as he headed for the door.

Heat flared in House's eyes for a moment. "I'll hold you to that."

"Good," Wilson called over his shoulder as he left.


	118. Sunset 2

**This is a sequel to Cane 2 - Omniscience and Hospital 2 - There's An Us? and it is _definately_ rated M for smutty mcsmut! grins So be warned!**

**

* * *

032. Sunset**

End Game

House sat on his piano stool and let the red light from the setting sun wash over him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, one finger tapping the beat of the jazz playing in the background against his good thigh. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the rays shining through the window sink in.

The interlude in his office this afternoon with Wilson seemed distant and slightly surreal and he wondered if it had really happened. Perhaps it was something he'd dreamed? A playful, teasing Wilson was a rare thing…or rare since the infarction. Before Wilson had always been willing to play games and have fun but after…well, after there was always that undercurrent of concern and worry that tended to take the playful aspect out of it. He'd missed it. Hadn't realised how much until Wilson had turned up this afternoon with his meandering tale of overheard nurses and fake innocent expressions.

"You're thinking too much," came the low voice from in front of him.

He gave a start as a hand rested briefly on his shoulder before drifting up to caress his cheek and his eyes flew open. He felt something twist in his chest at the sight before him.

Wilson was standing in front of him, much the same way as he had that afternoon. The red light from the sunset was washing over him and he had a small, warm smile on his face. But his eyes…his eyes were full of emotions House had always thought he'd never see directed at him. Another damn wife maybe…but not him.

"Not sure that's possible," he said, inwardly cursing the hoarse sound of his voice.

Wilson's smile became rather impish. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Something lurched inside House and he gave Wilson a small but very genuine smile. "Take it how ever you want."

Wilson raised an eyebrow then leaned forward and brushed his lips across House's. "Have you eaten?" he asked as he pulled away.

House shook his head silently. "Not hungry."

Wilson's smile became slightly predatory. "Good."

Wilson stepped back and held out a hand to House, the look in his eyes expectant. House stared down at the hand for a long moment then took it and allowed Wilson to pull him to his feet. Wilson didn't say anything, just smiled and tightened his grip on House's hand. House grabbed his cane with his unclaimed hand and allowed Wilson to draw him into the bedroom and right up next to the bed. Once there, Wilson let go of House's hand and plucked at the hem of his t-shirt.

"Can I?" he asked with a mix of eagerness and hesitation.

House smiled and nodded. Wilson's answering smile was bright with happiness and a hint of lust. He plucked the cane out of House's hand and leaned it against the bedside table before turning back and sliding his hands under House's shirt and resting them on his stomach. He then ran them up House's chest, rucking up his t-shirt and scraping his fingernails over House's nipples. House's sharply indrawn breath and whispering moan at that were a balm to Wilson's soul and he repeated the action just because he could. He quickly pulled House's t-shirt off then leaned in and ran his tongue over one of House's nipples.

"Fuck, Jimmy," House said with a gasp and his hands grabbed at Wilson's shirt. "Take this off."

Wilson pulled back and smiled. He slowly unbuttoned the shirt then pulled it off, dropping it to the floor behind him. He smiled again when House's eyes darkened then let out a shuddering breath when the older man's hands came up and caressed his chest and shoulders. His eyes fluttered closed when House's hands cupped his face and drew him close. The kiss was soft at first, as if House was trying to work out if this was real, but when Wilson returned it with enthusiasm, the kiss soon turned fierce, with House nipping at his lower lip and claiming his mouth.

As suddenly as it started, the kiss ended. Wilson opened his eyes to find House standing with his eyes closed, his mouth a thin, slightly grim line.

"Greg?" he said softly.

House's eyes opened and Wilson saw the pain shadowed in them. For a moment his heart lurched then House gave a wry twist of a smile.

"Bed," was all he said but Wilson understood.

"No clothes," he said in reply, his eyes twinkling.

"Good idea," House said, the twisted smile becoming more genuine when Wilson didn't make an issue of what had happened.

"All my ideas are good," Wilson replied, struggling to swallow a grin as he started undoing the button and zip of House's jeans. He knew he was going to get quite the response to that comment which would distract House away from what was bothering him.

"You've made at least three bad decisions that I know of," House replied sardonically, grabbing at Wilson to steady himself while the younger man stripped his jeans off.

"They weren't bad decisions," Wilson replied patiently, turning his attention to House's boxers. "At least not when I made them."

"This is a bad decision," House said flatly though he made no attempt to stop Wilson.

Wilson paused after he stripped off House's boxers then slowly stood, running his hands up House's legs and sides. When he was standing and looking House in the eyes again, he spoke.

"No, I think this is the first unreservedly _good_ decision I've made in a long time."

"I'm bad at this. Ask Stacy."

"We've already been together longer than you were with Stacy," Wilson replied, stepping back slightly and undoing his own pants. "And if you didn't think this was going to be part of the natural progression of our friendship then you should have stopped flirting with me years ago."

That got a small, amused smile from House.

"Wasn't entirely sure you noticed that," he said, his eyes travelling down Wilson's body with open appreciation.

"I noticed," Wilson replied as he stepped out of his own boxers. "I just wasn't sure if you were serious or just yanking my chain."

"I'd like to yank _something_," House said with a leer as he pushed the sheets back and sat down on the edge of the bed then scooted over.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's it. Bring this down to the level of the tawdry with comments like that."

"Tawdry?" House said with narrowed eyes. "Have you been reading Cuddy's romance novels?"

He patted the bed next to him and waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.

"No, I have not…" Wilson said then he broke off and grinned. "Cuddy reads romance novels?"

House snorted and grabbed Wilson's wrist, yanking him down on the bed. Wilson fell onto the mattress with a quiet 'oomph' and an exasperated look.

"Did you have to do that?"

House looked utterly unrepentant then he smirked at Wilson and wrapped one hand around his erection.

"You were wasting time thinking about Cuddy's deplorable reading material," he said, his eyes becoming half-lidded with pleasure.

Wilson shuddered at the sight in front of him and shifted around so that he was lying on his side. He reached out and gently pushed House's hand away before replacing it with his own. He leaned forward and kissed House as he began a slow, firm stroking motion and House moaned into the kiss. When he felt an answering hand wrap itself around his own hard cock, he had to break away from the kiss and gasp, his head dropping down onto House's shoulder.

"W…want you," he muttered breathlessly.

He felt House jerk underneath him and the hand on his dick went still. He whimpered involuntarily but the hand stayed still.

"If you can figure out a way that's not going to hurt," came House's voice, hoarse and full of want.

Wilson didn't wait for a second invitation; he shifted House onto his left side then pressed himself up against House's back.

"Yeah, this might work," House said with a catch in his voice. "Top drawer."

Wilson rolled away for a moment and pulled open the top drawer on the bedside table. He raised an eyebrow at the half-empty bottle of lube then pulled it out.

"Do I want to know why this is half-empty?" he asked as he moved back towards House.

House snorted as he leaned back into Wilson's warmth. "You obviously have an over-inflated opinion of my sex life. The only companions my dick has had lately are my hand and a hooker."

Wilson dropped the bottle on the pillow and wrapped one arm around House, burying his face in his lover's neck as his hand drifted over House's chest and stomach in a series of light caresses. He then reached down and started slowly stroking House's cock again.

"Make that my hand, a hooker and your hand," House said in a slightly strangled tone.

Wilson licked a stripe up House's neck then lightly bit his earlobe, enjoying the hitched moan that caused.

"No more hookers," he murmured in House's ear.

"Not into threesomes, Jimmy?"

Wilson growled under his breath. "No."

House groaned as Wilson's hand disappeared then distracted himself by saying, "That sounded surprisingly possessive coming from a man like you."

He didn't get an immediate reply though from the sounds coming from behind him, Wilson wasn't being idle.

"Yes," came the eventual reply but House forgot the question at the feel of a slick finger sliding down the cleft of his arse.

"Fuck, Jimmy," he breathed as he let his forehead meet the pillow then he gingerly shifted his leg to allow Wilson better access.

"That's kind of the idea," Wilson replied; he kept his concentration on what he was doing in an effort to keep his own arousal under control. This was turning him on more than he thought possible and his heart was pounding at a rapid rhythm. Of all the scenarios he'd pictured for this moment, this hadn't exactly been at the top of the list. Not that he was complaining.

He deliberately kept things slow as he prepared House; partly to tease, partly because he needed the time to make sure he wasn't going to end things embarrassingly early. House's ongoing litany of curses and often filthy encouragement was both helping and hindering this process. Finally he decided enough was enough and he withdrew his fingers and shifted himself even closer.

He groaned and buried his face in House's shoulder as his dick slowly penetrated House's arse. The warmth was incredible and it was so tight that he was almost afraid he was hurting House.

"God, Greg…so…tight…shit!" he gasped as he stopped for a moment.

House growled when he did that and shoved backwards, giving a low groan as Wilson slid all the way in. Wilson grabbed House's hip in a bruising grip and held his lover still.

"How…long?" he gasped in an effort to regain some control.

House didn't even pretend that he didn't know what Wilson was asking. "A while," he said, his voice tense as he slowly started to undulate his hips to the best of his ability in an effort to get Wilson to move.

"A long while," Wilson countered as he gripped House's hip a little tighter to still the movement.

House turned his head enough that Wilson could see his grin. "A long while," he confirmed. "Now, for fuck's sake, get on with it."

Wilson leaned forward and kissed House, the action slightly awkward due to their position then he shifted House's leg forward a little further and wrapped his arm firmly around his lover's chest.

"Pushy," he murmured into House's ear. "Figures."

Before House could reply, he pulled out almost all the way then slammed back in hard. House's inarticulate cry was full of pleasure and Wilson grinned as he established a steady rhythm of smooth almost-withdrawal and hard thrusts. Then he slid his hand down and wrapped it around House's cock, stroking it in a matching pace. He wasn't going to last long and he was determined to take House with him.

His matching relentless rhythms pushed House over the edge first; one hand clenched in the sheets, the other gripping Wilson's arm tightly and litany of half-finished, incoherent words tumbling out of his mouth. Wilson followed almost immediately, unsure if it was the sudden tightening of House's arse around his cock or his lover's reaction that set him off.

For long time the only sounds in the room were those of breathing then House made a small indistinct sound and drew in a sharp breath. Wilson pulled away slightly, his softened cock slipping easily out of House's arse, then he leaned forward again.

"Where are they?" he murmured in House's ear.

House's eyes were closed, his hand clenching in the sheets for a new reason. He opened his eyes and Wilson saw the pain starting to win the battle against the last remnants of lazy pleasure.

"Coffee table," House rasped.

Wilson started to roll over and get out of bed but was stopped by House's sudden grip on his arm. He moved back and looked down questioningly. House shifted onto his back and pulled Wilson closer.

"Greg?" Wilson said quietly.

"Shut up," House replied, the look on his face belying the harshness of his words. He hesitated for a long moment then said quietly, his eyes strangely vulnerable. "I like you. Maybe…more."

Wilson blinked then remembered the conversation in House's office that afternoon.

"I know," he said with a smile. "The feeling's mutual."

House stared at him for a long moment, searching for something that he obviously found. He smiled briefly then let Wilson go.

"They're on the coffee table," he said, prodding his lover in the ribs abruptly.

Wilson rolled his eyes but obediently crawled out of bed. He'd know going into this that any tender moments with House were going to be brief and few so there was no point getting riled. He'd take what he could get and savour them when they happened.


	119. Life 2

**046. Life**

Meet Death

Wilson had been facing the nurses' station when the gunshot rang out, shockingly loud in the quiet clinic. He felt something shove him forward then his knees went out from underneath him. It was only when one of the nurses, her face distorted with horror and fear, screamed his name that he felt the pain. He slumped to his knees then he found himself greeting the floor and when he managed to look down, he saw blood spreading on his white shirt. He barely had time to acknowledge what had happened when everything went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of the deserted clinic and there was a man dressed all in black, leaning against the nurses' station, examining his fingernails. The man had pale, white skin, a shock of thick black hair and, when he looked up, Wilson could see he had black eyes.

"Ah, you're here," the man said, pushing himself off the counter and tucking his hands behind his back.

"Uh, where am I?" Wilson asked carefully as he looked down to find the blood gone.

The man frowned slightly. "Well, you lot have a lot of names for this place but limbo will do for now." He smirked. "Or you could just call it the clinic."

"Okay," Wilson said slowly, ignoring the other man's sudden resemblance to House. "Why am I here?"

"You have to make a decision," the man replied, cocking his head slightly to one side.

Wilson resisted the urge to sigh; getting answers from this man was like pulling teeth. "What kind of decision?"

"Do you want to live or die?" the man replied then he held a hand up to stop Wilson from answering. "It's not as easy a question as you might think. You've been shot in the chest. You're pretty badly injured and right now the whole thing could go either way. It's entirely up to you. If you choose to live, there'll be some pretty evil days ahead. Lots of pain, lots of hard work getting back on your feet. You'll lose some things, gain others but it'll be up to you whether the gains outweigh the losses. If you die…well, you avoid all of that."

Wilson hesitated. "What…what kind of gains and losses?"

"Well, I can't be too exact," the man said with a shrug. "The future's not set in stone but if you choose to live, you'll be a long time recovering. You'll lose your position as Head of Oncology though you'll eventually return to medicine." he gave a quirky smile. "You find love though. The person will be so shocked by nearly losing you they'll finally get their head out of their arse." He shrugged. "Up to you whether you think the gain outweighs the loss."

"If I die, I lose both," Wilson said logically.

"Well, true," the man conceded then he gave Wilson a long look. "I can show you the possible future if you die, if you like."

"Okay," Wilson replied before he could really think about it.

The man smiled then in a flash they were standing in what Wilson suddenly realised was House's office. There was no sign of House but Cameron was sitting in the chair behind the desk, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking. Wilson started forward but was stopped by the man's hand resting on his shoulder.

"You can't do anything," the man said calmly. "They can't see you or hear you."

Wilson's reply was interrupted by the arrival of Foreman. The neurologist hesitated for a long moment before walking over and placing a hand on Cameron's shoulder.

"There's nothing you could have done," he said heavily.

Cameron raised her head and Wilson saw the tears her hands had been hiding. That was when a very unpleasant suspicion started to flood through him.

"Why didn't we know?" she asked, her voice shaking as she looked over at the only piece of paper on the desk.

"How often did we know anything about House that he didn't want us to know?" Foreman asked practically. "Besides, I don't think he ever did anything about it. I think that's why he was so upset when Wilson died."

Cameron was silent for a moment. "He thought he always have a chance," she said softly.

Foreman nodded. "I guess he never expected to outlive Wilson." He snorted. "_I_ never expected him to outlive Wilson. He had a…self-destructive lifestyle."

"Two months longer," Cameron whispered and Wilson winced.

He walked over to the desk and looked down at the piece of paper, ignoring the continued conversation between Foreman and Cameron. Once he'd finished reading, he leaned wearily on the desk and looked over at the black-clad man.

"Is this what you wanted me to see?" he asked.

The man smiled thinly. "I'm technically not supposed to let you see this much."

"Then why?"

The man shrugged. "Every now and then I feel like meddling. Besides he makes even me wince and I've never really cared how long or how soon people get to me."

Wilson was silent for a long moment. "And if I live?"

"He'll get his head out of his arse," the man said with another careless shrug. "Then it'll be up to you two to make it work. It won't be easy but when is something worthwhile ever easy?"

"Death's not worthwhile?" Wilson asked.

The man chuckled. "No, that why it's so shockingly easy to die at times."

"I would have thought you wouldn't care."

"I don't," the man replied. "But you people occasionally interest me and as I said, every now and then I like to meddle." He took a deep breath then let it out. "So what's your decision?"

Wilson snorted. "What do you think? I'll live."

The man gave him a sardonic grin. "Good. Enjoy your life. I'll see you again…eventually."

Before Wilson could say anything, everything went black again. The next time he woke, it was a slow process and he felt sluggish and thick. Pain flashed across his chest every time he breathed and he could feel something uncomfortable down his throat. He was in the process of prising his eyes open when he realised someone was holding his hand and that was all the motivation he needed to get them open the rest of the way.

House was sitting beside his bed, sprawled with his head resting on one arm while the other was the one holding his hand. He was asleep and Wilson winced when he realised how much House was going to hurt when he woke. He gently squeezed House's hand and watched as House slowly blinked awake. He looked blearily over at Wilson then his eyes widened. As Wilson watched a myriad of emotions flowed through House's eyes, finally settling on relief and something that looked like carefully hidden love.

"'Bout time you woke up," House said gruffly.

Wilson smiled around what he now recognised as a respirator and let sleep claim him again. House was here and he'd had certain promises made to him about the future. He looked forward to making them come true.


	120. Black 3

**This is an all dialogue piece.**

**

* * *

014. Black**

Baby, It's Dark In Here

"Dark in here."

"How observant of you."

"Just making a comment."

"And a singularly useless one too."

"Hey, it's not my fault we're stuck here."

"You were the one who shut the door when I distinctly recall telling you not to."

"You were the one who didn't tell me the door locked automatically."

"No, I was the one expecting you to _listen_ to me when I told you not to shut the door."

"Alright! I…I misread the situation."

"How?"

"You…had that look on your face."

"What look?"

"_That_ look."

"I have _many_ looks that I occasionally drag out and slap on my face. Want to be a little more specific?"

"The…look you get when you're up to mischief…or when you want to have sex in a public place."

"And you naturally assumed the latter?"

"After the last two weeks, why wouldn't I?"

"Huh. Fair enough."

"I…gather you were actually involved in the former."

"Well…yes. But I wouldn't say no to the latter."

"What? Now?"

"Got any better ideas for what we should do?"

"House! What if someone opens the door?"

"Hey, you were the one who thought I was after sex and was apparently all for it, Jimmy."

"Yes, but that was when I thought you were actually after sex and had made sure we wouldn't be disturbed."

"Well, that's not likely to happen for at least an hour."

"What?"

"The guy who has the key to this room goes to lunch about now and he never takes less than an hour."

"I'm not sure I want to know how you know that."

"Be thankful I know that he's going to come back."

"Good point."

"So?"

"Greg, we can't see a damn thing in here. How do you propose to do anything?"

"That's why God gave us hands, Jimmy."


	121. First 2

**004. First**

Beyond Imagination

The fact that Wilson had actually envisioned what his first kiss with House might be like had always struck him as somewhat pathetic. The fact that he'd been married when he came up with this idealised first kiss probably made it even more pathetic. He'd never spoken to anyone about it; he had no intention of submitting himself to any kind of ridicule, censure or incredulity.

He'd pictured it at House's apartment. Maybe one night when House was feeling mellow and playing the piano. Maybe he'd get up and walk over, placing his hands on House's shoulders. For once House wouldn't stiffen, instead he'd relax and lean back. Maybe he'd tilt his head back, a mildly curious look on his face. Wilson would lean over and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It would all follow on, lazy and languid.

And yet in all of his imaginings he'd never quite pictured this.

He was pinned to the wall of his office, House's body heavy, hard and warm against his. House had laid claim to his mouth and was plundering it ruthlessly. Wilson could feel the stinging rasp of House's stubble on his skin and House's hands were clutching his hips with a bruising grip as he ground their erections together. His own hands were fisted in House's shirt as he moaned and writhed under House's ruthless assault. Somewhere near their feet on the floor lay House's cane and his tie and lab coat.

Then as suddenly as the kiss had begun, it ended. House ripped his mouth away and Wilson whimpered almost involuntarily, trying to follow and resume the kiss. House chuckled smugly and slid his hands up Wilson's sides as he pressed himself even closer. Wilson moaned again as his head dropped back against the wall, his hips bucking involuntarily against House's.

A moment later the weight and the warmth pressing him against the wall was gone. He whimpered and opened his eyes to see House bracing himself against the wall as he picked up his cane. He moved to grab House and drag him back but House evaded him with an agility he rarely saw these days and limped towards the door.

House paused with one hand on the door handle and looked back at Wilson, his eyes alight with desire and heat and his lips quirking into a smile.

"We'll finish this tonight," he said in a low voice full of promise before he opened the door and limped out.


	122. Grey 2

**012. Grey**

Lifting The Mood

House stood in front of the glass door that led out onto the balcony he shared with Wilson and stared at the grey, drizzling clouds. For once the weather outside matched his mood perfectly. He couldn't seem to shake this funk he was in and to be perfectly honest, he wasn't really trying. Wilson would have hauled him out of it, probably in a manner House wasn't quite expecting but would inevitably find rather funny, but Wilson was away at a week-long conference in California and wasn't due back for another day.

House scowled at the weather outside and his barely-seen reflection in the glass then abruptly pushed the door open. He limped out onto the balcony, slower than usual in deference to the slippery concrete, and stood next to the balustrade. The drizzle was chill and in spite of its lightness, it was relentless and quickly soaked through his clothes. He ignored the cold and the dampness and continued to stare, the grey mood settling more solidly over him.

"You really are an idiot sometimes."

Startled, House spun around then had to hurriedly grab for the balustrade when his feet slipped a little. When he'd recovered he looked in the direction the voice had come from to find Wilson standing in the doorway giving him a look that was a mix of exasperation and fond amusement.

"What are you doing here?" House said sharply.

The amused look on Wilson's face intensified and he said, "Well, I work here."

House scowled. "You're supposed to be at a conference."

"Cancelled," Wilson replied. "There was an outbreak of food poisoning and all three of the final day's key note speakers got it." He shrugged. "I came home early."

"Why aren't you sick?" House said ungraciously, feeling strangely unsettled by Wilson's unexpected reappearance.

"I don't know," Wilson said thoughtfully. "I ate the same meal. Maybe I've got a better stomach." He paused and grinned. "I eat in the cafeteria here so I guess that might be right."

House fell silent then turned and faced outwards again, ignoring the man behind him and the subsequent sigh.

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson said softly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" House snapped.

"It looks like you're trying to get a cold," Wilson said mildly. "I'm not sure _why_ you're doing that since you hate being sick and _we_ hate you being sick because you become even more of a miserable bastard than normal."

House grunted and shrugged but couldn't summon enough interest to answer. He heard Wilson sigh behind him again then a moment later he was surprised to feel a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head just enough to see that Wilson had come out onto the balcony and was standing just behind him.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked quietly.

House shrugged again and shook his head briefly before looking back out over the grey, wet vista; how the hell could he explain what was wrong to Wilson when he didn't know himself?

"Ah," Wilson said as though he understood anyway.

House kept expecting that warm hand to disappear and for Wilson to leave him to his brooding. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wilson come round to stand next to him, the hand leaving his shoulder. He then received a third surprise when Wilson cupped his cheek and turned his head so that he was facing the younger man. Wilson looked at him for a long moment, his face calm, then his hand slipped around to the back of House's neck and he pulled him in for a kiss.

House's eyes drifted closed as he relaxed into the kiss. There was no heat or need in it, just warmth, caring and something so indefinably Wilson that House unaccountably felt his grey mood starting to lift. He took his free hand off the balustrade and rested it on Wilson's hip, feeling the heat of his body and relaxing a little more.

The kiss drifted to an eventual end and they separated though they remained close. House slowly opened his eyes and found Wilson watching him calmly. Only his eyes betrayed his nervousness and even that faded when House smiled, a rare, genuine smile full of warmth and thanks.

"Now we're both wet," Wilson said with soft humour. "Let's go home."

"Sounds good," House said, still smiling as he followed Wilson inside.


	123. Lies 2

**016. Lies**

Lies, Damn Lies

House had come to accept, if not actually _like_, the idea that everyone lied. His team always scoffed whenever he said that but he knew he was right. Time would prove that to them. _Everyone_ lied at some point, even he lied. Generally he found it frustrating and annoying, the lies standing in the way of proper treatment, of saving a life. But most of the time, he really didn't care. If people chose to lie, that was their problem.

He'd never expected a lie to hurt.

He watched Wilson walk into the bedroom…_their_ bedroom…and felt the pain spread through his chest. Wilson had just lied to him. Had just told him he had a late meeting with his lawyer about the divorce. But if that was true, why had said lawyer called less than an hour ago confirming their meeting for _tomorrow_? No need to wonder what the lie was covering. All that remained was wondering how long it would take before the self-imposed guilt forced the self-imposed confession.

House stood where he was and stared towards their bedroom. Everyone lies but for once he wished he was wrong.


	124. Truth 2

**This is a sequel to Lies 2 - Lies, Damn Lies.

* * *

****017. Truth**

Tell The Truth

Wilson stood in the middle of the bedroom and scrubbed his face with one hand as guilt welled within him. He'd just lied to House and not a small lie, not a lie about something insignificant, but a great big lie. He'd lied about where he'd been for that last couple of hours, claiming a meeting with his lawyer. Nothing could be further from the truth and he had a nasty suspicion House knew he was lying. There had been a flash of…something in House's eyes when he'd glibly told his lover about the supposed meeting. It had been hidden fairly quickly but it had been there.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, yanking his tie off as he walked to the door of the bedroom. A quick glance showed him that House was sitting on the sofa, eyes on the television and a stiff expression on his face that told Wilson all he needed to know. House knew he'd lied and no doubt suspected why.

Wilson tossed the tie on the bed then carefully pushed the door until it was almost closed. He retreated over to the far side of the room and pulled out his cell phone. He quickly dialled a number and waited.

"He suspects," was the first thing he said quietly when the person on the other end picked up.

"Why do you think?" he said with exasperation. "Because I'm a terrible liar, especially with him."

There was a pause as he listened intently then he sighed.

"Look, I'd better confess," he said wearily as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "The hospital won't like it if I don't. You know the kind of mood he can get in. He'll take it out on everyone and in a sense this is my fault."

He listened again and grimaced.

"Yes, I know but this is for the best," he said. "Trust me. I've done this before."

With that he hung up and tossed the phone on the bed next to his tie. He changed into jeans and a t-shirt then steeled himself before walking back out into the living room and sitting down next to House. He winced inwardly as House stiffened and his expression became bleak though his eyes never left the TV.

"Greg, I…lied to you just before," he said slowly.

"I know," came the acid reply. "Your lawyer called confirming your meeting for _tomorrow_."

Wilson really did wince this time and he slumped on the sofa. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I'm sure you've said that many times before," House said, his voice going from acid to downright nasty.

Wilson sighed; he'd expected this. His track record wasn't very good and it was natural that House would make this assumption.

"Greg, the only person I've had sex with in the last couple of months is you," he said calmly. "And that includes today."

He got a quick look of scathing disbelief and sighed again; it was going to be a long night.

"I knew this was going to be a mistake," he muttered.

"Did you now?" House said bitterly.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Not _us_, Greg," he said with irritation.

"Then what?" House snapped.

Wilson grimaced and shook his head. "I told them not to get me involved," he muttered to himself. "I told them I'm a bad liar at the best of times and hopeless with you."

House's eyes narrowed. "James," he said impatiently.

"Oh, for…" Wilson said with exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. "You've been nominated for a Lasker Award and the hospital wants to make a fuss about it whether you win or not. _Especially_ if you win and from the whispers a few people are hearing you're a _very_ good chance to do so. Cuddy dragged me into the planning because they all know how much you hate fuss and they figured I'd need forewarning to…to coerce you into coming along."

House stared blankly at Wilson for a long moment. "A Lasker Award?" he said warily.

Wilson smiled slightly. "Yes, a Lasker Award. Which there is a good chance you might win if you haven't pissed off the members of the jury."

House blinked and the tension that had been there since Wilson lied to him drained off in an instant. Wilson subtly relaxed as well and waited for his lover's reaction. As he watched a tiny smile curved House's lips and a certain amount of smug satisfaction settled in as well.

"You're a terrible liar," House said, his smile modulating into a smirk.

Wilson rolled his eyes then chuckled. "I know."


	125. Denial 2

**019. Denial**

Get Off The Bus

Wilson walked down the corridor, his shoulders slightly hunched and his concentration turned inward. Force of habit had taken him in this direction and in order to get to his office he was now going to be forced to walk past the Diagnostic Medicine office. He hunched his shoulders a little further and increased his pace, hoping to get past as quickly as possible. But once again, force of habit stepped in and he turned to look into House's office.

House was in there and somehow he seemed to know that Wilson was walking past. He looked up and Wilson flinched. The stony, belligerent look on House's face sharpened when he saw that Wilson was looking at him and for once Wilson knew he deserved it. He swallowed hard then quickly scurried away from House's office, gaining the sanctuary of his own office with a sigh. He shut the door behind him firmly and leaned against it wearily.

He stayed there for a moment, collecting his thoughts then walked over and slumped down his chair behind his desk. It was then that a note on the desk caught his eye. He gingerly picked it up and opened it, wincing again when he recognised House's handwriting. The note was short and brusque and made something inside Wilson's chest clench.

_Make a decision. My place or fuck off._

Wilson had been occupying a comfy, reserved seat on the big ol' denial bus for a long time now. How long, he couldn't quite remember but at the very least it dated back to his first meeting with House. House had cheerfully and sardonically chatted him up, picked him up and then proceeded to show him things that his tentative exploration of his sexuality in college hadn't even come within a bull's roar of matching.

But Wilson had always felt the weight of expectations weighing on him and he'd given in to them back then, just as he always had. House had been disappointed, bitingly so, but eventually had shrugged and seemed content to let things stay as friendship. But last night he'd apparently changed his mind. He'd made a move and Wilson had responded. And this morning Wilson had felt those expectations again and had once again caved into them. Unlike last time, House wasn't prepared to accept that.

Which is what brought them to this point. House had been vociferous and blunt. Enough hiding, enough evading, enough with the wives. Wilson had fought back, not because he didn't want the same thing but because he was…afraid. Afraid of change, afraid of disappointing people, afraid of…everything. House had all but thrown him out of the apartment this morning and now he had his ultimatum. House or nothing.

Wilson gave a slightly bitter laugh as he let the note drop onto his desk again; House certainly knew how to cut through the bullshit.

An uncertain future or one without House.

_My place or fuck off._

The risk of seeing disappointment in his parents' eyes or the certainty of never seeing that gleam in House's eyes…the one that said 'let's have fun'.

_My place or fuck off._

Maybe getting what he'd always wanted but never been brave enough to take or…another wife, another divorce.

_My place or fuck off._

Wilson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath then let it out slowly. House had spent years dragging him out of his comfort zone and it looked like he was going to do it one more time. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and packed his bag. He pulled on his jacket then walked out of his office, nodding a good night to his secretary. He paused in the corridor just out of sight of House's office then kept going, pushing open the door and walking over to stand in front of House's desk.

House was destroying something on his Gameboy and did not look up. Wilson could see that his friend's face was hard and stony and he swallowed.

"Your place," Wilson said quietly.

House's head came up and he gave Wilson a long look.

Wilson shifted uncomfortably under that look and repeated, "Your place."

House stared at him a moment longer, his expression unchanged. "Why?"

Wilson swallowed again. "You," he whispered. "You mean more to me than…than…the rest."

He almost flinched when House suddenly pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his cane and limping around the desk to stand in front of him. House stared at him with that stony expression for a moment longer then his face relaxed into something approaching affectionate. He brought his free hand up and gently caressed Wilson's cheek.

"It's about damn time," he murmured as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Wilson's lips.


	126. Acceptance 2

**020. Acceptance**

The Invitation

When Wilson walked into House's office, it was painfully obvious to him that House was brooding. If his friend's expression wasn't a dead giveaway, the loud and distinctly obnoxious music and the mutinous expressions on the faces of the three doctors out in the conference room were all the confirmation any sane person would need. Practically everyone else in the hospital would have left rather abruptly at this point but Wilson had never been afraid of any of House's sometimes destructive moods and instead he sauntered over and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

Wilson eyed House for a moment but when the other man kept brooding, knocking his cane from hand to hand, Wilson looked around, trying to find the source of House's abysmal mood. Nothing looked particularly out of the ordinary except for the letter lying open on House's desk. From what Wilson could see, it looked like an invitation of some description.

He eyed House for a little longer but when he didn't seem inclined to either look around or make any other kind of acknowledgement of Wilson's presence, Wilson reached out and plucked the letter off the desk. That got no more than a twitch and Wilson raised an eyebrow before reading what did in fact turn out to be an invitation.

Wilson read it through and then read it a second time. He then looked back up at House, torn between being concerned at House's reaction to something so…innocuous and laughing.

"House?" he said loudly enough to be heard over the music.

House turned his head enough to glare him, though after a moment Wilson realised House wasn't exactly glaring at _him_ so much as the invitation in his hand. House reached out and stabbed at the stereo, silencing the music.

"House?" Wilson repeated slightly warily.

"Wilson," House snapped.

"Are you going?" Wilson asked.

House scowled. "Do I have a choice?"

"Well, you could always say no," Wilson said thoughtfully. "But then your mother would have guilt material on you for years."

"I repeat, do I have a choice?" House said acidly then he smiled evilly. "But it won't be too bad. You're coming with me, Jimmy."

"What?" Wilson yelped. "House, you can't just arbitrarily invite people like that."

"I didn't," House said smugly. "Look at the invitation. It says Gregory and _friend_. You're my _friend_ so you're coming. I already told Mom."

"I somehow don't think I'm the kind of friend she meant," Wilson said dryly.

"You're the best kind of friend," House replied with a ridiculously overdone leer.

Wilson rolled his eyes and put the invitation back on the desk. "So when exactly were you planning on telling me about this?"

House shrugged. "Soon. Late enough that you couldn't find a way to weasel out of it."

"You've told your mother I'm coming, that makes the weaselling kind of difficult," Wilson said wryly.

House smirked. "That's a point."

Wilson sighed. "Are you going to tell me why you were brooding? Was it about this?"

House shrugged and snatched the invitation up, reading it again with a hint of disgust. "Wonder how Mom talked Dad into it," he muttered.

Wilson's lips twitched. "I think it's very sweet. Renewing their vows for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Kind of romantic. Why wouldn't he agree?"

House gave Wilson a withering look. "Please do not put _sweet_, _romantic_ and my Dad in the same sentence. I'd like to keep my lunch down, thank you."

Wilson chuckled. "It's not that bad, surely."

"I wasn't at my parents first wedding. Why would I want to be at their second?" House said grumpily.

"Well, I'd hope you weren't at their first one," Wilson said idly. "But as for the second…free beer? Free food?"

House brightened a little. "Hey, good point." He suddenly scowled. "Damn, I'm going to have to put up with the relatives."

House broke off at that point and he stared at Wilson with slowly growing childish glee.

"No," Wilson said firmly. "Whatever evil thought is growing in your mind, the answer is _no_. I am not getting into trouble with your mother."

House pouted. "Spoilsport. I wanted to shock the relatives."

"I think the fact that you'll be turning up with me will be surprise enough," Wilson said dryly.

"Hey," House said, the look of childish glee returning.

Wilson rolled his eyes then got to his feet. "Again, the answer is _no_."

House just chuckled at that. "Wanna bet I can change your mind?"

"Uh, no," Wilson replied as he headed for the door.


	127. Friends 2

**021. Friends**

The Thousandth Man

House turned around on the piano stool and eyed the man half-lying on the couch. A half-smile quirked his lips and he felt something disturbingly like affection well in his chest. Wilson was watching him with half-lidded eyes, the bottle of beer in his hand perilously close to falling, and House wasn't sure if the other man was awake or mostly asleep.

He grabbed his cane from where it was leaning against the side of the piano and levered himself to his feet. He limped over to the couch and plucked the bottle out of Wilson's hand.

"Huh?" Wilson said sleepily, his attention returning from wherever it had been.

House placed the beer bottle down on the low table and tapped Wilson's legs lightly with his cane.

"Time for bed, thousandth man," he said with a small but very genuine smile.

Wilson blinked. "What?"

"I said, time for bed," House repeated, limping towards the bedroom.

Wilson pulled himself more upright, a slight frown on his face. "No, not that. The other bit."

House paused in the doorway and gave a single soft laugh. "Figure it out. I'll be nice and give you a clue. Kipling."

With that House disappeared into the bedroom. Wilson slowly dragged himself to his feet, trying to place House's odd comment. He slowly ambled over to the bookshelves and rummaged through until he found the book of Kipling's verse he'd noticed when he'd first moved into House's apartment. It took a few minutes to find the 'thousandth man' reference and when he did he felt a lump grow in his throat and few tears well in his eyes. He quietly closed the book and placed it back in the bookshelves before heading towards the bedroom. He'd been worrying about where this change in their relationship was going and what it meant to House. Now he couldn't find a reason to worry.

* * *

The Thousandth Man  
by Rudyard Kipling

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,  
Will stick more close than a brother.  
And it's worth while seeking him half your days  
If you find him before the other.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend  
On what the world sees in you,  
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend  
With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show  
Will settle the finding for 'ee.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go  
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.  
But if he finds you and you find him.  
The rest of the world don't matter;  
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim  
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk  
Than he uses yours for his spendings,  
And laugh and meet in your daily walk  
As though there had been no lendings.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call  
For silver and gold in their dealings;  
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all,  
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,   
In season or out of season.  
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --  
With that for your only reason!  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide  
The shame or mocking or laughter,  
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side  
To the gallows-foot -- and after!


	128. Enemies 2

**022. Enemies**

Backfire

House had made many enemies in his life. He made them as naturally as other people made friends. He usually didn't much care. If people didn't like him then that was good, meant he didn't have to deal with their idiocy.

Occasionally it backfired on him.

Like the time an irate and vindictive ex-girlfriend posted on the med school notice board some very lurid photos from a party where he'd gotten stupendously drunk then flirted with and groped a very friendly and enthusiastic undergrad from some frat that he was never able to remember. It led to a large number of annoying comments, a small number of amusing ones, a couple of propositions that made him back away _very_ quickly and six weeks of very good sex with said member of the unknown frat until both of them got the shit kicked out of them by seven drunken members of the college football team who didn't like the idea of men kissing other men.

Or like the time when he so infuriated a patient's father that he removed the young girl from the hospital and had her admitted elsewhere. House hadn't realised this had happened until he got in to the hospital in the morning with what he was sure was the answer to what was wrong with her. By the time he'd managed to find out where she'd been taken and convince not only her new doctor but also her still angry father that he _had_ the answer, it was too late. She'd died about thirty seconds after he'd stepped into her room. The autopsy later proved he was right.

Or like now, with the husband of a former patient pointing a gun at him and looking all to ready to shoot…


	129. Colleagues 2

**024. Colleagues**

Conference Questions

James Wilson was rapidly starting to remember why he hated going to conferences. While it was always nice to gain the respect of his colleagues for whatever paper it was he'd chosen to present this time, it was those same colleagues that tended to drive him up the wall.

Conferences inevitably involved a great deal of drinking and sex. It was remarkable how quickly everyone regressed to their college days when they got together at some swanky location away from work, family and friends. On the whole, Wilson didn't mind the drinking and had on occasion taken advantage of the sex, but it was the prying questions he always hated.

It had taken until his third conference after House's infarction to discover that his friendship with the man had apparently become the stuff of legends…or at least intense speculation. House's reputation as a sarcastic bastard had always been well known across the medical landscape but his ability had always relegated that reputation to the 'annoying but a man must have his eccentricities' basket. After the infarction, House's reputation had grown exponentially and so, subsequently, had Wilson's as a result. Now Wilson had to admit that most of what he heard, and sometimes _overheard_, about House was actually fairly accurate which often made it a little difficult to answer the questions that got thrown in his direction.

When his colleagues were sober, those questions were generally professional, mostly just slightly diffident questions as to House's likelihood of agreeing to take a look at a particularly vexing patient. He usually told them to go ahead but if they did to make sure it was something interesting. He was never entirely sure how many, if any, of those cases House ever looked at. He'd certainly never mentioned anything about them.

However when his colleagues had been drinking, their questions became increasingly intrusive. All of them had heard stories about House's ability to verbally savage the unwary and each and every one inevitably asked him how on earth he put up with the man. The women tended to be even bolder and many of them would just ask him barefaced if they were lovers, was _that_ the reason he could tolerate what drove off so many others?

He'd tried all sorts of answers to the questions from the completely dismissive to the evasive. None of them really seemed to work and the truth was so complex that he wasn't even going to attempt to try that option.

How did he explain to them that he liked House because House never expected him to be anything other than himself and that House seemed to _like_ that Wilson more than the version everyone _else_ liked? That he generally found House's verbal savagings amusing and often quite justified, even though he'd never have the courage to say things like that himself or even when they were directed at him. That he'd seen sides of House over the years that made the times that House actually _did_ manage to get to him bearable. That underneath the pissy exterior he knew that House actually _did_ care as much about this seriously bizarre friendship as he did. That in his own unique way House was a better friend than any other he'd had in his life.

He could tell them all that but he knew they wouldn't understand. He knew they'd think he was completely barking mad. So he was evasive and dismissive, obtuse and even deliberately oblivious and every now and then even contemplated bringing House along to one of these things. Partly for the entertainment value of watching him verbally flay everyone in the room but mostly for the entertainment value of watching everyone else try and figure out why he was there.


	130. Strangers 3

**025. Strangers**

Poker Night

"I can't believe you let complete strangers into your home," Wilson said, his voice somewhere between disbelief, worry and disgruntlement.

House didn't look up from his Gameboy. "It's poker," he said dismissively.

"What if one of them decides he doesn't like the fact that he's losing and decides he's taking his money back?" Wilson countered. "What if one of them gets violent?"

House spared Wilson a brief glance, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "You've been watching too much CSI."

"What?" Wilson said in surprise then he hurried on before House could sidetrack the conversation. "No, never mind. House, I'm serious."

House rolled his eyes. "You're just put out because I didn't invite you."

"No!" Wilson said a little too quickly.

House actually looked up from the game properly this time. He gave Wilson a long questioning look, ignoring the sounds of imminent death coming from the machine in his hands. Wilson held up under that look for an impressive amount of time but finally he broke.

"Yes," he said quietly.

House snorted and looked back down at the Gameboy. He grimaced and restarted the game before saying, "There's a reason I don't invite you."

"Why?" Wilson asked flatly, trying not to reveal how hurt he was by that and wanting to smack himself be _being_ that hurt. House _was_ allowed to have a life outside of the hospital and their friendship…even if he didn't like it.

A smirk flickered across House's face. "You're too good at poker. I like winning."

"You've beaten me plenty of times," Wilson said, his voice still flat.

"Not lately," House replied blandly.

"We haven't played much lately," Wilson replied.

House was silent for a long moment as his fingers kept moving on the buttons of the Gameboy. The single glance he shot at Wilson was full of speculation.

"Come to the next poker night."

Wilson's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?" he said, caught between surprise and delight.

"Not if you keep acting like that," House said sourly though there was an undertone of amusement in his voice.

Wilson sobered though the slight smile still lingered. "How many people will be there and what kind of poker?" he asked eagerly.

Cameron poked her head through the door at this point. "The test results are back."

"Oh goody," House said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

He tossed the Gameboy onto his desk and grabbed his cane, hauling himself to his feet and limping towards the door to the conference room. He waited until Cameron had retreated then just as he was walking through the door he turned and grinned at Wilson as he answered the question that had been posed.

"Just you and Strip."


	131. iPod 2

**029. iPod**

Hideaway

Of all of House's toys, the iPod was the one Wilson hated the most. At least with the other things House couldn't completely ignore you. He could still hear you even if he pretended not to be listening. He always _was_ listening, just in case you might come up with something worth hearing. But the iPod was different; it allowed House to block everyone out completely, to lose himself in a world of music where no one could reach him.

Wilson knew that House resorted to the iPod when he wanted to retreat. Either because of a patient whose diagnosis was frustrating and eluding him or because he wanted to avoid talking to people or because this day was a bad day and maybe the music could drown out the pain for a little while. Most of the time Wilson was exempt from this retreat. Most of the time House would at least pull one earpiece out.

But there were days when even he was thrown out of House's world and he _hated_ those days. Hated how helpless he felt when he would get nothing more than that blank, distant, faraway look. Hated how it made him want to grab House by the shoulders and _shake_ him until he was allowed in again. He always had to shove his hands into the pockets of his lab coat to hide the clenched, shaking fists.

But most of all he hated the reminder that no matter how far House let him in, no matter how much further inside those monolithic walls he was compared to everyone else, not even _he_ was allowed all the way in.

And that was where he wanted to be…


	132. Sunrise 2

**031. Sunrise**

Family Matters

The warm light of the rising sun shone in through the windows right onto Wilson's face, slowly dragging him out of sleep and into wakefulness. As he slowly woke, he became aware of two things; one, that he wasn't in his own bed and two, he seemed to have a large, warm object attached to most of his right side. He pried his eyes open, blinking in the light streaming in through the open curtains and looked around.

Slowly the memories came back to him as he saw all the usual accoutrements of a standard hotel room. He then looked down, knowing that his human blanket was going to be House. Wilson snorted involuntarily as he caught sight of House's expression. House's head was resting on his shoulder and he had a small but very smug smile on his face. Wilson tried to be irritated at that but he wasn't very successful; partly because he was fairly sure the smugness was only partly a result of what they'd done last night but mostly because he was certain he had a matching expression on his own face.

House suddenly shifted slightly, burying his face into the juncture of Wilson's neck and shoulder and the older man's arms tightened around him. Wilson gently stroked his lover's back and chuckled under his breath; all things considered it was just as well they decided to stay in a hotel rather than accept Blythe's offer of Greg's room in their home. Neither of them had been particularly quiet the night before and it was easier to ignore glares, smirks and half-hidden snickers from anonymous hotel patrons than from your lover's parents.

Neither Blythe nor John had been especially surprised to see him there with House and had greeted him with their usual good humour. House had been a rather spectacular combination of cheerful, sarcastic, snide, amused and utterly appalled at what his parents were doing. He'd been in devastating form before the ceremony, leaving more than one person unsure as to whether they'd been insulted or complimented. Wilson had concentrated on not laughing and hustling House up to the front of the room where their seats were since he realised early that morning that getting House to shut up today would be an exercise in futility.

House actually managed to behave himself during the ceremony except for the pained, slightly appalled look on his face. The ceremony itself was lovely and John looked proud and amused while Blythe managed to look radiant.

However _after_ the ceremony, things got a little out of hand.

John and Blythe had been the first to approach them and Wilson had seen the merriment in Blythe's eyes and smothered a grin.

"There, that wasn't too bad, was it, Greg?" she said with a laugh.

"It was excruciating," House replied grouchily. "Just what I needed to see…my parents being _romantic_."

Blythe laughed and John raised an eyebrow at his son.

"We weren't always your parents, you know," he said with a hint of relish. "We were once a couple of kids, young and in love. Why, I remember taking your mother down to the local lover's lane…"

House's expression became increasingly pained during this until John couldn't help but laugh.

"You know what they say, Greg," John said with open amusement. "Parents should always live long enough to be an embarrassment to their children. Have we done a good job?"

"Marvellous," House replied sardonically though there was laughter lurking in his eyes.

"Oh, good," Blythe said with a laugh. "We have to keep going. James, do _try_ and keep Greg under control. And Greg, _behave_ yourself."

The two of them walked off before either man could answer and Wilson gave House a long-suffering look.

"She doesn't seriously expect me to succeed, does she?" he asked.

"Nope," House said with a wicked grin. "But it gives her someone to blame other than me."

"I'm in trouble," Wilson said wryly.

At first it wasn't too bad. House kept things to a few scandalous remarks and the occasional mild insult but then he caught sight of a couple about their age and he swore under his breath.

Wilson raised an eyebrow and eyed the couple. They seemed perfectly normal; conservatively dressed and both moderately attractive. He turned back to House and was surprised to see the unhappy scowl on his face.

"They look fairly normal," he observed. "What's wrong?"

House swore quietly again as the couple caught sight of them and set sail in their direction.

"There's a reason I don't go to family gatherings and they're part of it," House growled. "Play along."

"House…" Wilson began then the couple had reached them

"Greg, it's lovely to see you again," the man said with apparent sincerity. He then turned to Wilson and smiled politely, holding his hand out. "Hi. I'm Alex House. I'm Greg's cousin. This is my wife, Alice."

"James Wilson," Wilson replied, shaking Alex's hand then Alice's.

Alex looked at them both curiously and it was then that Wilson realised that House had stepped closer to him. _Much_ closer to him. In fact, their positioning pretty much mirrored Alex and Alice's and he could see the couple noticing that. They didn't seem to approve.

"I…noticed…" Alice began, her face paling slightly then he soldiered on. "Stacy not with you?"

"Obviously not," House said sarcastically. "And if you paid attention you'd known she hasn't been _with me_ for the last six years."

"Oh…yes, of course," Alice said, sounding flustered. "So you brought a…friend with you."

House gave a smile that was positively evil. "Yes, James is my…_friend_. My _close_ friend."

Alex and Alice's expressions stiffened and the disapproval became more obvious.

House's expression brightened and he looked over Alex's shoulder.

"Oh, look! Aunt Susan wants to speak to me," he said cheerily as he grabbed Wilson's hand. "Come on, babe. I want you to meet her."

With that House limped away, dragging Wilson with him. Alex and Alice watched them go with matching shocked looks. House slowed down once they were out of earshot but he didn't let Wilson's hand go.

House snickered. "Did you see the expressions on their faces?"

"Greg! What the hell are you doing?" Wilson said, torn between annoyance and amusement. "And did you just call me 'babe'?"

"Gee, you're slow today," House observed as they kept walking towards an elderly lady sitting on a chair next to the dance floor. "I would have thought what I was doing was pretty damn obvious."

"Well, true," Wilson admitted. "Are you planning on telling me why?"

"What? Annoying my relatives isn't reason enough?" House asked with a wicked grin.

Wilson took a surreptitious look around. "Actually, most of them don't look annoyed. They looked amused."

"That's because they think we've been fucking like bunnies for years," House said crudely as they walked up to the elderly lady.

She looked over at them with merriment dancing in her eyes then reached over and prodded House lightly in the stomach with _her_ cane.

"You're not supposed to use language like that around women of my vintage, Greg," she said archly. "Now sit down and talk to me."

Wilson pulled up a couple of chairs and the two men sat down whereupon the elderly lady eyed him with approval.

"Very nice, Greg," she said mischievously. "I thoroughly approve. This one's definitely better than Stacy. Now, if I overheard you correctly, do you mean to tell me you two haven't been fucking like bunnies for years?"

House tilted his head back and laughed uproariously as Wilson stared at the woman with surprise. She gave House an amused and tolerant look then held out a hand to Wilson.

"I'm Susan House. I'm John's aunt," she said bluntly. "Greg adores me because I alternately amuse and horrify his father. I adore Greg because he's one of the few people who'll put up with me for more than five minutes."

"Uh, James Wilson," Wilson replied, feeling a little blindsided by this woman who seemed to be an older, more feminine version of House.

"Oh, I know who you are," Susan House said as they shook hands. "You're rather legendary among the family as the only one to last longer than five years with Greg. I'm impressed."

"Don't tell him that," House complained.

"Why not? It's true," Susan countered bluntly then she grinned. "You know, for two people who apparently aren't together, you do a pretty damn good impression of it. You certainly managed to convince Alex and Alice. They're off complaining to your father."

House's head whipped around and he scowled when he saw she was right. "Typical," he growled. "Tattletale."

"Some things never change," Susan said with amusement. "Are you two _sure_ you're not together?"

House went very still and he gave Wilson an unreadable look. "He keeps getting married," he said blandly.

"Well, I didn't know you…" Wilson abruptly broke off and stared at House. The other man had raised one eyebrow and was looking genuinely surprised and more than a little pleased.

Susan burst out laughing and they both looked around at her. She waved a merry finger at them.

"Men," she said through her laughter. "Completely oblivious, the lot of you."

"Well, I guess we'll be fucking like bunnies tonight then," House said roguishly though there was a hint of question deep in his eyes.

Wilson paused and a smile flickered over his face. "Okay," he said in a deliberately blasé tone.

Susan crowed with laughter again and poked them both with her cane.

"I know where you picked up _that_ habit now," he said with a grin at the laughing woman.

"It looked kind of fun when she was doing it to _other people_," House said with a matching grin. "You what…it is fun."

"For _you_," Wilson said dryly then he changed the subject. "So what's with you and that Alex?"

"Hate at first sight on Greg's part," Susan said with amusement before House could answer. "Alex always kind of liked _him_ though."

"Which just proves he's an idiot," House sneered.

"True," Susan replied blandly. "Not the brightest spark. And let me tell you, one of the advantages of being my age is that you can say things like that without repercussions. Everyone just assumes you're going senile. Greg, on the other hand, gets labelled the black sheep of the family."

"My proudest moment," House said smugly.

Both Wilson and Susan gave matching snorts of amusement.

"Religious types?" he asked mildly.

"Born again," Susan said with a roll of her eyes. "Who'd have thought that would happen to someone in _this_ family?"

"They're a disappointment," House said with a grin.

"Pity I can't use your tactic," Susan said wickedly. "But somehow I don't think they'd believe I've become a lesbian this late in life."

"That's your bad luck," House replied smartly. "Jimmy and I on the other hand can have some fun."

Wilson blushed and Susan immediately spotted it and teased him. They managed to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting with Susan which turned out to be alternately fun and somewhat embarrassing. The only interruptions came when Blythe insisted on dancing with them. House grumbled and looked pointedly down at his leg but his mother wouldn't take no for an answer and all but dragged him out onto the dance floor. Wilson watched with a mix of concern and amusement as House and his mother moved slowly to the music.

"He'll be alright," Susan said calmly. "He can do more than he lets us think he can. You should know that."

Wilson gave her a quick glance. "I do but he still pays a price for it."

"You think I don't know that," Susan said sharply then she fixed a gimlet gaze on him. "You're not planning on changing your mind once you get away from today's insanity, are you?"

Wilson smiled slightly. "Not a chance. I…I'd have made a move sooner if I'd thought he was interested. He's still able to hide things from me."

"Good," Susan said with satisfaction. "I'm getting too damn old to watch out for him at these things. I'm officially handing the job over to you."

"Thank you," Wilson said so dryly that Susan laughed uproariously again.

"You two are having far too much fun," House said as he limped back to them with his mother.

He dropped into his seat with a wince and a grimace and pulled out his bottle of pills.

"Too true," Blythe said, determinedly not looking at her son. "James, dance with me."

"That's it, Blythe. Take the pretty one away," Susan complained with a smile.

Blythe laughed. "I'll give him back to you soon, Susan. You are going to come over and terrorise John before you go?"

"Of course," Susan said staunchly.

When Wilson returned he found Susan talking quietly to House as he rubbed his thigh gently. She looked up and nodded once.

"Take him home," she said calmly. "He's had enough fun for the day."

Wilson crouched down and placed on hand on the knee of House's good leg. "Greg?" he said softly.

House shot him a glare then nodded. Wilson stood and stepped back, allowing House to get to his feet on his own. Once House had managed that, they both said goodbye to Susan then quickly found Blythe and John. House's parents eyed him with sympathy and shooed them both away. Wilson drove them back to the hotel in silence as House leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

When they got back into their room House immediately limped over and sat down on the bed while Wilson stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"I guess I'm going to get a raincheck on the fucking like bunnies?" he said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

House looked over at him and gave him one of his rare crooked smiles. "Oh no, you're not getting out of _that_."

A slow smile spread over Wilson's face and he raised an eyebrow. "Hot shower?"

"Only if you join me," House replied as he levered himself to his feet.

"Cool," Wilson replied and followed him into the bathroom.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

House's sleepy rumble startled Wilson out of his thoughts. He looked down but House still had his face buried in his neck and hadn't moved an inch.

"How much I like your Aunt Susan."

House chuckled. "Crazy old bat. I like her too."

"I noticed." Wilson hesitated. "This _is_ more than just last night, isn't it?"

House snorted then licked his neck, making Wilson gasp. "Stupid."

"That's a yes, then?"

House snorted again and the lick was replaced by a bite. "Didn't drag us both up here just to go back to sleeping on my own."

"You planned this?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"Not really," House mumbled with a small shrug. "Just took advantage of the situation. You complaining?"

House bit his throat again and Wilson's reply was lost in his moan.

"No," he gasped. "No complaints."


	133. Too Much 2

**033. Too Much**

Fear of Falling

House arched off the bed, a strangled moan dragged out of his throat by Wilson's mouth closing around his nipple, his hands scrabbling on Wilson's shoulders.

"No…no," he gasped, his hands finally finding purchase and shoving hard.

He barely heard Wilson's startled "What?" as he scrambled backwards, clambering off the bed and backing away, awkwardly, painfully, until his back smacked into the wall. He knew his eyes were wide and wild and he was panting, short, jerking breaths that didn't seem to be bringing much oxygen into his lungs.

"Greg?"

Wilson's voice was soft and almost preternaturally calm, the tone of voice someone might use to gentle a skittish animal.

"Can't," House gasped, his gaze flickering to every part of the room except where Wilson was. "Too much."

Wilson's warm, gentle hands coming to rest on his chest drew a startled, almost fearful, cry out of him and only the subtle pressure of those hands stopped him from running…or trying to run. He hadn't seen Wilson move…too busy looking elsewhere.

"Too much what?" Wilson asked, his voice still soft and calm, his hands gently caressing, trying to soothe.

House didn't answer. He turned his head and tried to ignore the sensation of Wilson's hands on his bare skin. But Wilson wouldn't allow him to escape. He felt one hand leave his chest, slide upwards until it was cupping his face then there was slow inexorable pressure turning his head.

"Look at me," Wilson ordered gently and House found himself incapable of disobeying.

He didn't know what Wilson saw in his eyes but whatever was there made the younger man smile softly, sweetly.

"Let go, Greg," he whispered. "I'll catch you when you fall. I always have, I always will."

House stared wildly at his friend, his lover. His thoughts chased themselves around his mind. To do this was to trust, to care, to love and he'd been hurt too much before to easily allow another inside. But this was Wilson. If there was one constant in his life, it was James Wilson.

He shuddered briefly and closed his eyes. He could still feel Wilson's hands, one on his chest, fingers moving in a barely-there caress, the other still cupping his face. He feel the heat radiating from Wilson's body and he knew part of him craved that heat and what it would bring. He shuddered again, deeper, then slowly opened his eyes.

Wilson was watching him, outwardly calm but his eyes betrayed his worry, his desire, his fear. House swallowed hard then, accompanied by the sensation of falling, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Wilson's. He _could_ trust, he _could_ care, he _could_ love. He _would_.


	134. Not Enough 2

**034. Not Enough**

In Need of Silence

Sometimes all his diversions were just not enough to quiet the incessant pain. He knew that Cuddy and to a certain extent Wilson thought much of the pain was in his mind, psychosomatic. That he made it worse in order to drown out the parts of his life that caused him pain. That he sublimated the pain caused by Stacy into his leg so that he had an excuse, so that he wouldn't have to think about what her leaving meant to him. So that he could just say his leg hurt and the rest of him was fine.

He'd conceded deep in his own mind that they might be right but that didn't help when his leg was screaming and the Vicodin just wasn't working. On days like that, nothing would work to silence the pain. Not watching bad soaps, listening to music, playing games, baiting his colleagues, snarking at patients, nothing.

All he could do was lie still, hope like hell the Vicodin would finally kick in and try to distract himself. Or better still, hope that Wilson would come in and distract him…because nobody did it better. Because even when everything else wasn't enough to silence the pain, Wilson worked best of all.


	135. Time 2

**035. Time**

Control

Sometimes House felt like he was always keeping one eye on the nearest clock. Contrary to popular belief…or at least Cuddy's opinion…he knew _precisely_ how much Vicodin he took during the day. He had his life under _that_ much control. He _never_ lost track of how long it had been since his last pill and he _never_ forgot how many he'd taken. He liked his liver, wanted to keep it for as long as possible and knew that if he ever pushed it too far with the pills he'd face a very nasty couple of weeks detoxing before they'd even _consider_ putting him on the transplant list. Besides which…yellow wasn't a good colour for him.

But for the first time since the infarction, his sense of time had gotten decidedly skewed.

He moaned and writhed as Wilson bit the inside of his thigh and tried to work out if it had been minutes or hours since this had begun. Perhaps it had even been _days_. All he knew was that somewhere between the start of their latest pointless argument at the hospital and when it ended with Wilson shoving him against the wall in the living room of his apartment and attempting to suck his brains out through his dick, time had gone and taken a very long, flying leap off a very short pier.

He moaned again, a sound that was ripped from deep within his chest, when Wilson's mouth slid down over his cock and decided that for once he didn't care that he seemed to have lost control.


	136. Taste 2

**039. Taste**

Savour

House loved the taste of Wilson's skin.

He loved the clean, soap-smelling taste of Wilson's shoulders just after he'd gotten out of the shower.

He loved the taste of coffee and something vaguely antiseptic in Wilson's mouth after a long day at the hospital.

He loved the taste of sweat and musk when he licked a long stripe up Wilson's neck during sex.

He loved the taste of their come when he licked it off Wilson's belly.

But most of all he loved the taste of lazy satiation in Wilson's mouth when they lay curled up around each other in the middle of the night.


	137. Tears 2

**This is inspired by a photo manip on the housewilson community.**

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**042. Tears**

Watch Over Me

The last time House had cried was when he was in hospital because of the infarction. They had been tears of pain, of frustration, of despair, welling up involuntarily, streaming down his face, soaking into his hair, the pillow, the cool, damp towels Stacy had used to wipe the sweat from his face. He rarely cried before that time or after.

But now…now as he stared down at Wilson lying strangely small and fragile in the hospital bed, he could feel the unwelcome tears threatening. He savagely forced them down, trying to convince himself they were just a result of stress, of thirty-six hours without sleep, of watching as the doctors in the ER rushed around trying to keep his best friend alive, of having to cut Wilson's _throat_ open to insert a trach tube so that he could keep breathing, of standing helplessly in the viewing room above the operating theatre watching as surgeons put Wilson back together again.

Oddly enough there were few bandages visible. Wilson was lying naked in the bed in the ICU, the sheets and blankets lying halfway up his chest, attached to various wires and leads, a nasal cannula supplying oxygen. There was a single stretch of white on his throat where the tube had been and another across his forehead, awkwardly placed, a rushed job in the ER to take care of the lacerations caused by the shattering windshield. That one would be replaced later by something smaller, more appropriate. It had been ignored in the rush, the minor being set aside to concentrate on the major.

The other bandage was hidden. It lay under the sheet and House was happy to have it out of sight. If he couldn't see it, he didn't have to think about it. He could ignore it, ignore how close he'd come to losing Wilson.

That thought smashed part of the way through his best efforts and a single tear escaped his control, sliding down his cheek and getting caught in his ever-present stubble. He ducked his head, staring down at the floor as he fought to keep the rest of the tears at bay.

"House?"

The whisper was so quiet that House almost missed it. He looked up to find Wilson's eyes slitted open, full of a drug-induced haze.

"'Bout time you woke up," House said hoarsely.

Wilson lifted a shaky hand and traced the path of the tear then his fingers brushed House's lips briefly before his hand fell back down onto the bed. House closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath that was half relief and half elation.

"Tired," Wilson whispered and House's eyes snapped open again.

"Get some sleep," he said, ignoring the tiny tremor in his voice. "I'll be here."

A minute smile curved Wilson's lips. "Good."


	138. Surgery 2

**044. Surgery**

Consequences

Wilson arrived at the hospital while House was in surgery. He'd been away on a holiday with his wife in an attempt to resurrect what he could sense was a marriage rapidly heading south. He wasn't entirely sure how successful the whole thing had been but he was hoping for the best. When they'd gotten home he'd almost automatically checked the answering machine while Annie went upstairs to unpack. The first few messages were mundane and he ignored them but then came one that made him sit up suddenly.

"Wilson? Are you there?" came House's voice, sounding oddly hoarse and full of something Wilson was almost prepared to call fear. He frowned then concentrated on the rest of the message. "Ah, shit. I can't remember when you get back. Jesus, Jimmy, I think something's wrong with my leg. I went into the clinic at Princeton-Plainsboro but they were completely useless. Fuck, it hurts, Jimmy. Like somebody's jammed a damn ice pick into my leg." There was a pause and Wilson could hear a door opening and closing in the background on the tape. "Stacy's here. I'm going to get her to take me into the hospital again. Call me."

The message ended abruptly and the next couple were from friends of Annie's. Then came the message that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"James, it's Stacy." Her voice was tearful and tense. "Greg…Greg's hurt. I think you get back today. _Please_ come in to the hospital. We're at Princeton-Plainsboro."

Wilson leapt to his feet and grabbed his car keys.

"I'm just going into the hospital," he called upstairs.

There was the sound of footsteps and his wife appeared at the top of the stairs. "What? Now?"

"Something's wrong with Greg," he said worriedly. "Stacy left a message this morning. She sounded…bad."

The frown that had grown on Annie's face disappeared at his last statement. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Wilson shook his head. "No…no, it's alright. If I need you, I'll call."

Annie nodded and Wilson hurried out of the house. He drove as fast as he could to the hospital then strode quickly through the doors, stopping at Cuddy's office. However she was nowhere to be seen. He then cornered a nurse at Admitting and got House's room number.

When he got up to the room, he found Stacy pacing the corridor, her face contorted with worry and fear and tears flowing freely. Lisa Cuddy was leaning against the wall, her expression stony but with more than a hint of guilt. Before Wilson could ask any questions, Stacy caught sight of him and hurried over. She opened her mouth but broke down and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder.

Wilson rather awkwardly, patted her back as he looked at Cuddy with confusion. She pushed away from the wall and walked over, helping to calm Stacy and get her sitting down in one of the nearby chairs.

"What's going on?" he demanded once Stacy was seated. "There was a message on my machine from House. He said something about his leg. Then I get a message from Stacy saying he's…hurt."

"He left a message for you?" Cuddy said with surprise.

Wilson frowned and nodded. "I think he'd forgotten when we got back. He said his leg was hurting, that he'd been to the clinic but that didn't help. That he was going to get Stacy to drive him into the hospital." He hesitated. "He sounded…scared."

Cuddy grimaced as Stacy gasped something that might have been a sob.

"He's…had an infarction in his right thigh," Cuddy said bluntly. "There was a…problem with the diagnosis."

Wilson's face froze into a blank expression as Cuddy explained everything that had happened in the last few days. The blank expression remained until she explained where House was right now and how he'd gotten there then he stared at Stacy with disbelief.

"Are you _insane_?" he burst out, ignoring the sudden protest from Cuddy. "Did you even _tell_ him about this option?"

"I…no," Stacy said tearfully. "James, you _know_ what he would have said. It was killing him. The pain was killing him and he wouldn't let them take his leg. It was the only choice."

"But you didn't _ask_ him," Wilson said flatly.

"He would have said no," Stacy replied.

"You should have _asked_ him," Wilson said harshly then he turned to Cuddy. "How long will he be in surgery?"

She glanced down at her watch then gave him a look full of guilt and sorrow. "It should be nearly finished."

Wilson scrubbed his face with one hand, not knowing what to say.


	139. Rain 2

**049. Writer's Choice – Rain**

Knowing

House stood out on the balcony and let the rain soak into his clothes. His hands were clenched around the handle of his cane and his face was turned up into the torrent of water, his eyes closed. He heard the door open behind him and tensed slightly.

"She died."

He relaxed at the sound of Wilson's voice and nodded.

"It happens. Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

"It shouldn't have," House growled.

"You can't save them all," Wilson said wearily. "No one can. Besides, I thought you didn't care."

House snorted. "I thought you didn't believe that."

"No, that's Cameron," Wilson replied and House could hear the smile in his voice.

"You think I'm a cold-hearted bastard."

"No, that's Foreman," Wilson replied, the amusement more obvious in his voice now.

That dragged a small smile out of House and he turned his head just enough to look at his friend. "So what's Chase think about me then?"

"Chase's thoughts are a scary place that I don't want to go near," Wilson said, his eyes gleaming with humour.

"I'll tell him you said that," House said, feeling a little more like himself again.

"He won't believe you," Wilson said airily. "After all, you're the bastard around here. I'm the nice guy."

House snorted again and started limping towards the door. "Shows what they know."

"Hey," Wilson protested but there wasn't any heat in it. Instead he stood back and let House inside, presenting him with the towel that was lying on the desk when he got inside.

House snickered and gave Wilson a sly look. "They don't know you like I do."

Wilson shrugged and smiled ruefully. "That's true enough."


	140. Sun

**050. Writer's Choice – Sun**

Holiday

The sudden slight coolness as a shadow blocked the sun caused House to open his eyes. Wilson was standing next to the towel he was lying on, glistening with water and grinning happily. He dropped down onto the towel next to House's and ran a hand through his water-soaked hair.

"You should come into the water," Wilson said enthusiastically. "It's great."

House snorted; it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his attitude in its normal 'bastard' setting, particularly when he was confronted with a nearly naked Wilson, wet from a swim in the ocean and looking happy and relaxed.

"I got enough entertainment value making here," House snarked, though both of them could tell his heart wasn't really in it. "Sand doesn't really agree with me much anymore."

"I'd help," Wilson protested lightly. "You'd like it in there. The water's warm."

House grunted. "Maybe later."

He shifted slightly and propped himself up on one elbow, looking around before looking back at Wilson. The beach they were on was deserted and well it should be. It was a private beach, set aside for the use of occupants of the house they were staying in. House didn't know what strings Wilson had pulled to find and rent this place but he wasn't arguing…much. The last year had been stressful even by his books. Between the debacle with Stacy, Foreman getting sick and him getting shot, even he had agreed when Wilson and Cuddy suggested he needed a holiday.

Admittedly he hadn't expected _this_ when Wilson had told him he'd found the perfect place. He'd left the planning in Wilson's hands because he'd had enough on his plate with recovering from the shooting and dealing with the patients his team had found…not to mention dealing with his team who had decided, for reasons that were beyond him right now, to become somewhat protective. It was annoying to say the least.

An island paradise hadn't exactly been high on his list of holiday destinations but they'd been here four days now and he had to admit Wilson had made the right choice. He felt truly relaxed for the first time in god only knows how many years. He was sleeping a lot but at the stage he was at in his recovery, it was to be expected. The…exercise he was getting was helping as well.

He had limped into the house to find that while it was luxuriously appointed, it only had one bedroom and one rather large bed. He'd turned and raised an eyebrow at Wilson and had received an intent look in return. Wilson, it seemed, had made a few decisions while he'd been unconscious after the shooting and House couldn't find it in himself to disagree. He had moments of doubt when he wondered whether this…thing between them would last past getting back to New Jersey but he was surprised to find that he was willing to find out.

"Penny for your thoughts," Wilson said breaking into his internal musings.

House blinked and saw that his lover was watching him with tolerant amusement.

"This was a good idea," he said abruptly.

Wilson looked startled for a moment. "Really?"

House smiled slowly. "Yeah."

Wilson beamed then leaned over and kissed him briefly. "Good. Now, are you coming into the water?"

House snorted and turned his face into the sun momentarily. "Yeah. Why not?"


	141. Tired

**Well, I've got a whole mew set of prompts to write fics for...over 250 in fact! Hope you enjoy them all.**

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**001. Tired**

Soothe

The alarm clock blared out into the early morning darkness in the bedroom. House tilted his head towards the offending noise and flung out a hand, smacking at the clock until he managed to turn it off. He left his arm draped across the bed and continued staring at the ceiling. He'd been doing the same thing all night and all the previous night as well and he was bone-tired. He tilted his head again and gazed dully at the bottle of pills on the bedside table and the cane leaning against it. He contemplated getting up for several minutes then cautiously rolled onto his side, facing away from the reminders of his disability. He closed his eyes and stared at the inside of his eyelids, trying to will himself to sleep.

He didn't know how long he'd been at that futile activity when he heard his phone start ringing in the living room. He opened his eyes for a moment then closed them again. He remained where he was through the persistent ringing of his home phone then his cell phone and finally the shrilling of his pager. Once all three fell silent, he sighed and shifted slightly, trying to settle himself comfortably enough to sleep.

"House?"

House gave a start at the quiet call and rolled onto his back with a resigned sigh. He hadn't heard the front door open. He opened his eyes and looked over towards the door apathetically.

"House?" Wilson said with concern when he came to the door.

He reached inside and flicked the light switch on. House groaned and flung one arm across his eyes but that was the sum of his response.

"House? What are you doing in bed?" Wilson asked, sounding like he was caught between surprise and annoyance. "Are you sick?"

"G'way," House mumbled as he rolled onto his side again, facing away from the door, his eyes closing again.

He heard Wilson walk towards him muttering under his breath.

"Why you can't just call in sick like a normal person is beyond me."

The bed dipped slightly when Wilson sat down then he felt a hand gently rest against his forehead then wrap around his wrist to check his pulse. It stayed there for a moment then Wilson sighed.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong because your pulse is fine and you're not running a temperature?"

House was silent for a long moment. "Can't sleep," he finally murmured.

There was a long pause. "How long?" Wilson asked carefully.

"Couple of days," House replied, opening his eyes and rolling onto his back.

He saw Wilson wince and suspected he _looked_ like he hadn't slept in two days. His wrist was still caught in Wilson's grip but he didn't say anything; it was strangely comforting.

"Why didn't you say something?" Wilson demanded.

"Hate sleeping pills," House muttered.

Wilson sighed and let go of House's wrist; House tried not to miss it.

"I don't know what else I can do," Wilson said quietly.

"Tired," House mumbled and he rolled onto his side again, facing Wilson and curled slightly around him.

"Yeah," Wilson said thoughtfully. "Maybe…"

His voice trailed off and House saw him reach out tentatively. When House didn't protest, Wilson continued moving, his hand coming to rest on House's head. He paused for a moment, eyeing House to see if there was any reaction, good or bad. When none was forthcoming, he began to gently card his fingers through House's hair.

House sighed and his eyes slid closed against the feeling of being petted in such a way. He hummed softly and a small smile drifted across his face. Slowly he felt himself relax and he crept one hand onto Wilson's leg as between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.


	142. Back Alley

**002. Back Alley**

Evasion Tactics

House slouched down in a booth at the back of the bar and eyed the beer he'd bought. He didn't really have any intention of drinking it; he'd just wanted the excuse for being in here. He was mostly trying to avoid Cuddy and after being nearly found in his office, the clinic, Wilson's office, coma guy's room and the obstetrics lounge, he'd fled the hospital. He knew what she wanted him for – a high profile but extremely boring case that he had _no_ intention of taking. Now if it had been high profile and _interesting_, he might have let her find him but for boring he was definitely out of the office.

"Why are we here?"

House's head shot up at the sound of Foreman's irritated voice and he carefully peered over the back of the booth.

"Because Dr Wilson said House occasionally comes here and since he isn't at home or anywhere _else_ Dr Wilson thought he might be, this is kind of the last resort," Chase replied patiently.

"You know, if he's going to these kinds of lengths to avoid this case, maybe he's got a point."

Cameron sounded tolerantly amused when she said that and House mentally gave her a day off being heckled in response, both for being right and her tone of voice.

He saw that the unholy trio were heading towards the bar and he took the opportunity to slide out of the booth and head towards the back door. He pushed it open and limped out into the back alley, letting the door shut quietly behind him. He leaned against the wall for a moment then turned towards the entrance of the alley to find Wilson leaning against the wall as well, hands shoved into his pockets, looking amused and slightly triumphant.

"You squealed," House said with a scowl.

Wilson looked vaguely repentant. "Well, in my defence, I didn't _actually_ think you'd be here. Speaking of which, why _are_ you here?"

"Cuddy wants me to take a patient," House grumbled.

Wilson looked confused. "She…can do that."

House limped towards Wilson. "This one's _famous_ apparently," he said in tones of disgust.

House came to a halt in front of Wilson and leaned against the wall again.

"You've treated famous patients before," Wilson replied.

"They were interesting," House snapped. "This one's boring. Blind Freddy and his dog could treat him. She doesn't need me."

"So…you're avoiding her," Wilson said slowly.

"Yep," House said smugly then he scowled again. "And I was doing really well until you opened your trap to the three amigos in there."

Wilson snickered. "They're inside? I'm surprised you've stayed here this long then. At least one of them is going to think to check the back exit."

House froze for a moment then a smile grew on his face that could only be described as evil. He pushed off the wall and advanced on Wilson.

"Then I'm going to have to make sure they _never_ come looking for me again," he said wickedly. "And while I'm at it, I intend to make sure you don't ever tattle on me again."

Wilson raised an eyebrow and started looking slightly worried. "Oh? How?"

House moved a bit faster and had his body plastered against Wilson's, pressing him into wall, before Wilson could react. He leaned in a little harder, smiling at Wilson's indrawn breath, and leaned his cane against the wall. He then slid his hands under Wilson's jacket and kissed him.

Wilson was still for a moment then, with a tiny whimper, he gave in and returned the kiss, his hands gripping House's hips tightly. House hummed his approval and worked his good leg between Wilson's, pressing their hips together as he deepened the kiss. With the small fraction of his mind that wasn't consumed by what he was doing and how it felt, he heard the back door of the bar open.

"Maybe he went out…" came Foreman's voice in tones that ranged from bored to a startled yelp as he broke off his sentence then he said weakly, "here."

This statement was closely followed by Chase's "Holy crap!" and a gasp that had to come from Cameron.

House could feel Wilson tensing and he slid the hand that was hidden from view from the door around until he could scrape his fingers over Wilson's nipple through his shirt. The moment he did he felt the tension flow out of Wilson and the other man moaned into his mouth, one hand shifting to clench in his shirt.

"Uh, I think we should go," Foreman said, his voice rippling with laughter.

"Yeah, we'll just tell Cuddy that we couldn't find him," Chase added, his amusement also plain in his voice. "'Cause I'm sure as hell not telling her about _this_."

"Yeah," Foreman said then he spoke a little louder. "And you two need to get a room."

House heard the door close on the laughter of Foreman and Chase with a bang. The sound seemed to get through to Wilson because a moment later he felt hands on his chest pushing him back. He drew backwards obediently but kept his body pressed against Wilson's as he looked at his lover's face, expecting to see a little irritation amongst the lust. Instead he was surprised to find exasperated amusement.

"Did you have to do that?" Wilson said dryly.

"Yes, because it worked," House replied with a quick grin.

Wilson gave a small quirk of a smile. "So what now?"

"Well, I thought Foreman had a good idea," House said, letting his thumb brush over Wilson's nipple again.

Wilson's eyes fluttered for a moment then he grinned. "That happens from time to time."

House reached out and grabbed his cane before stepping away. He gestured towards the entrance of the alley with a jerk of his head and said, "Let's go."

Wilson cleared his throat and straightened his clothes before joining him. "And they say romance is dead," he observed.


	143. Late

**003. Late**

Desires

House pulled up in front of his apartment and brought the bike to a halt. He pulled off the helmet then slowly and carefully climbed off before grabbing his cane and limping up to the front door. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, dropping his helmet onto a nearby table and stripping his jacket off. He tossed the jacket over the back of the couch and limped slowly into the bedroom.

He came to a halt in the doorway and a small smile curved his lips. The bedside light was on and it showed the sleeping form of James Wilson sprawled in his bed. He limped over and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning his cane against the bed small side table before leaning over to take off his shoes.

"What time is it?" came the sleep-slurred question as he sat up again.

"Late," he replied. "Go back to sleep."

He pulled off his shirts and tossed them to the floor but before he could unbutton and unzip his jeans he had a warm naked body plastered to his back and his earlobe was being sucked into a warm, wet mouth. He made a small indistinct noise and let his head fall back onto Wilson's shoulder.

He made another indistinct sound as Wilson's hands crept around over his chest and brushed over his nipples before heading down and undoing his jeans.

"Get them off," came the low order from behind.

"You're out of luck," House said even as he obeyed the order and sat down again.

"Oh? Why's that?" Wilson replied, his voice full of warm arousal and humour. His hands had resumed their downwards journey until they reached House's flaccid dick.

"That's why," House said flatly.

Wilson shifted his hands back to House's chest, encouraging him to lie down. He then leaned over and turned off the light before curling up into House's side and gently caressing his lover's chest. House's occasional bouts of impotence, usually caused by a combination of too much Vicodin, too much pain and/or too much alcohol, were frustrating for both of them and humiliating for House no matter how many times Wilson told him he didn't care.

"It's not all about sex," Wilson murmured into House's ear and he continued his soft caresses.

"You say that now but I can feel what's poking into my hip," House snapped.

Wilson chuckled and settled himself more comfortably. "Greg, I was married three times. I'm used to going without sex."

House was silent but Wilson knew him well enough to be able to read what House would not say aloud in that silence.

"I'm right where I want to be," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Besides the sex is good enough that I can wait for it. Anticipation is a good thing."

House snorted but relaxed somewhat, wrapping his arms around Wilson and drawing him closer. He slid one hand down Wilson's side until he reached his hip then he moved it around until he could close his hand around Wilson's cock.

"Greg?" Wilson murmured as he bucked into House's hand. House's frustration with his own impotence usually meant that he was disinterested in sex of any kind and Wilson had never wanted to push.

"Shut up," House said, his voice a hoarse growl.

House's hand tightened slightly and he began to move slowly back and forth. Any further questions Wilson had were lost in his own moan as House slowly began to jerk him off. He buried his face into House's neck and gasped and panted as House's hand slowly sped up until he cried out and his hips jerked forward, semen spattering over House's hip and side. Wilson lay there, pressed into House's side as he panted and shuddered his way down from the unexpected orgasm, House gently stroking his side.

When he felt his brain resolidify he shifted slightly and murmured, "Why?"

House snorted and moved around until he could reach his discarded t-shirt. He used the shirt to clean them up then tossed it back onto the floor. Wilson pulled up the sheets and blankets with one lazy hand and they settled down once again.

"Because I wanted to."

House had finally answered his question when he was on the cusp of sleep and Wilson smiled.


	144. Son

**004. Son**

Revelations

John House leaned wearily against the doorway of the hospital room and stared at the man lying on the bed inside. His son, his only son, his only child, had been shot. Twice. Once in the throat and once in the stomach. He'd been told by Dr Cuddy that the operation to repair the damage done by the bullets had been a success but that Greg had asked for ketamine to be used…an experimental treatment of some description. John shook his head; he didn't understand why his son would do that. Though more to the point, he didn't understand why these things always seemed to happen to his son. First the leg, now this.

In truth he didn't quite understand his son. His intelligent, acerbic, sarcastic, brilliant son. When Greg had been born he'd hoped that his son would follow in his footsteps, join the military in some form. But Greg had chosen medical school. He'd been disappointed at first but that had soon passed. What man would not be proud of having a doctor for a son?

But they'd never really understood each other, he and Greg. Especially once Greg had become a teenager. That brilliant mind worked far better than his. His son understood things better and quicker than he ever could. It made him short with those who could not match him, sharp with their shortcomings and sarcastic in the face of their befuddlement. He'd tried to tell Greg that he needed to temper his attitude, be more diplomatic, but Greg, in his teenage wisdom, had ignored that advice. Perhaps he hadn't known quite how to say it properly?

It pained him to see his son so alone, in so much pain. He'd do anything to see Greg happy and whole but how did a man say that to his son? What words could be used? The Lord knows he'd tried but he just seemed to make things worse.

Movement on the other side of the room caught his eye and he looked over to see James Wilson slowly waking in the chair he'd fallen asleep in. Perhaps his son wasn't completely alone. This man had stood by him as friend since the two of them had met. John wasn't sure what bound the two of them together but whatever it was, it seemed to work.

As John watched James slowly, tiredly, rose to his feet and shuffled over to the hospital bed. He sank down into the chair beside the bed, the one that John himself had recently vacated, then leaned forward and took Greg's hand in his own. John's eyes widened slightly as James' other hand began to slowly stroke Greg's hair. That was the action of a parent or a…

"Dammit, Greg."

The words were a bare whisper but John heard them in the silent room. The tone of voice they were spoken in made him frown in confusion. He never professed to be a man of emotion but he knew that tone. The words might have been ones of exasperation but the tone they'd been said in was love.

John almost withdrew then; this was something he'd never considered in regards to his son. The only partners Greg had ever brought home had been women. Was this just one-sided? Or did Greg feel the same way?

He heard James' shuddering sigh then more whispered words.

"Will you just wake up already? Christ, Greg. I need you to wake up."

John drew in a soft breath. There could be no doubting _that_ tone of voice. James Wilson was in love with his son. And he couldn't imagine _anyone_ using that tone of voice to Greg when there was at least a slim possibility Greg could hear it without the feeling behind it being reciprocated.

John was career military and their attitudes towards gays were well known. John had never really cared either way and had thought that Don't Ask, Don't Tell was probably the best compromise. He wasn't sure what to think when it came to his own son though.

He sighed and looked over at the bed again. James was still sitting there, watching Greg and gently stroking his hair, his emotions plain on his face. He couldn't deny that James had been good to and _for_ his son. And who was he to make his son any more miserable than he already was? He watched for a moment longer then quietly slipped back out into the corridor. His wife was down in the cafeteria with Lisa Cuddy. He'd go down and join them; perhaps James would appreciate the time alone with Greg.


	145. Hot

**005. Hot**

A Long Night

Wilson looked around the crowded ballroom, struggling to keep the disgruntled expression off his face as he sipped at his glass of champagne. He hated these damn fundraisers as much as House but unfortunately he didn't have the acerbic personality to use as a fallback position to get out of them. Cuddy usually allowed House to whine his way out of these things because she didn't want him offending the donors. He just wished he could do the same things.

He took another sip of his champagne and smothered a smirk. At least tonight House would be joining him in his misery for once. One of the donors was one of his former patients and Cuddy had insisted House had to be there…to review his handiwork were her words. House had scowled and pouted and sulked and snarked but Cuddy had held firm for once and House had been forced to give in.

Now he just wished the man would get here because tonight would surely be more interesting with House around. Probably a lot more exasperating and he'd no doubt have to mollify an inordinate amount of donors after House had insulted them but even that was always kind of fun in its own unique way.

Wilson glanced around the room again, his eyes coming back to the doors just as they opened and House limped in. Wilson's jaw sagged for a moment before he got himself back under control. House looked…_hot_. Now he'd seen House in a tuxedo before; the poker night being the most recent example but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen House in a tux with a clean-shaven face. Well…actually he _could_ remember when he'd last seen House clean-shaven and in a tux but that was at his second wedding when House had been his best man and _long_ before he'd worked out that what he felt for House went _way_ beyond friendship. So perhaps the best way to put it was that this was the first time he'd seen his lover clean-shaven and in a tux.

All of a sudden Wilson knew that this was going to be a _very_ long night.


	146. Floor

**006. Floor**

Without Touch

House tilted his head back and moaned, the floor warm and slick under his sweaty back. He reached up with one hand and dragged Wilson's head down, capturing his mouth in a hard, biting kiss. The other hand slid down Wilson's side then around to caress his arse. Wilson pulled away from the kiss to add his own moan. House looked back down to where Wilson was straddling him and bit off a strangled curse.

It was without a doubt, hands down, the hottest thing House had ever seen. They were both naked and Wilson was straddling his thighs, one hand bracing himself against the floor, the other reaching behind and preparing himself. After having pulled away from the kiss, Wilson now had his bottom lip clenched between his teeth and his eyes were closed.

"Jimmy," House said hoarsely, caught between entreaty and demand.

Wilson's eyes flickered open, dark with lust, and he brought the hand that he'd been using to stretch himself around and ran his slick fingers down House's erection. House moaned again and his hips jerked slightly, the movement enough to jar his bad leg and keep him from completely embarrassing himself. He slid his hands along Wilson's hips and was about to pull him forward when Wilson grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. Wilson pulled his hands over his head and pressed his wrists against the floor. House moaned again as their erections brushed momentarily.

"Keep them there," Wilson said, his voice thick with lust.

House was about to make a pithy reply when Wilson ran his hands down his arms to his shoulders then scraped his fingernails over his nipples. House arched and gasped. He was about to move his hands, to grab at Wilson's shoulders, anything, when Wilson slid his hands back up to House's wrists.

"Keep them there," Wilson said firmly then he smiled, a slow, almost voluptuous smile, and House nodded.

"Good," Wilson said smoothly.

He let his hands trail back down House's arms and down his chest then he braced against the floor and shifted forward. He reached down and took House's cock in his hand then slowly…agonisingly slowly…lowered himself down onto it.

It took all of House's self-control not to grab at Wilson's hips and speed things up. Instead he clenched his hands into fists above his head and swore quietly, unable to drag his eyes away from what Wilson was doing. When Wilson had finally taken him all in, he paused, both hands now braced against the floor, panting and shivering slightly.

"Jimmy," House said through gritted teeth as he struggled not to thrust. "I need…let me…touch."

Wilson raised his head and smiled. He shook his head once. "No."

"Jimmy," House said again, his voice all entreaty.

Wilson shook his head again then sat up, drawing a groan from both of them. He then raised himself up slowly before slamming down, hard and fast. House gave a hoarse cry and his arms jerked as he fought his every instinct. Again and again Wilson repeated his action, his breath coming in sharp pants and grunts, until he shifted slightly and wrapped a hand around his dick. It took only three sharp pulls before he was coming, semen spattering over House's chest, his arse clenching suddenly around House's cock. The sight and the feel were enough to send House over the edge and he thrust up as best as he could as he came, his hands clenched into fists so tight he could feel his nails pressing into his palms.

Wilson caught himself before he could collapse on top of House and slowly lowered himself to one side on shaky arms. He slid one hand up the arm closest to him and slowly drew it down with soft murmurs. House shuddered and grabbed at his lover, dragging him back on top of his body, raising his head to bury his face in Wilson's neck, his hands wrapped around Wilson's biceps in a convulsive grip. He breathed in the scent of sweat and sex and Wilson and shuddered again, barely feeling Wilson's hands running soothing caresses over his face, his shoulders, his arms, his chest.

House let his head fall gently back onto the floor again and Wilson mirrored his previous move by burying his face in House's neck. House let go of Wilson's arms and let his hands splay out over his lover's back, the feel of the warm, smooth skin under his hands and the faint puff of breath on his neck filling him with contentment.


	147. Cheat

**007. Cheat**

What Goes Around

James Wilson looked down at where his hands were gripping the balustrade of the balcony outside his office so tightly his knuckles were white. He gave a single bitter, mirthless laugh and his hands tightened even further, to the point where he could almost hear the bones grinding together.

Somewhere out there his ex-wives were laughing their arses off.

Four months. He and House had been lovers for four months and for once Wilson had not felt the need to stray, he hadn't looked, hadn't been tempted. For four months he'd been happy.

But three days ago, Stacy had returned. Minus her husband, divorced, for reasons he hadn't been interested in knowing.

And yesterday…yesterday she'd crooked her finger at House and he'd gone running, disappearing for the rest of the day and finally returning to the hospital late in the evening when his team called him in. Wilson had gone home…to the home he shared with House…to find it empty but with the scent of Stacy's perfume lingering on the pillows of _their_ bed.

Oh yes…somewhere out there his ex-wives were laughing at him…


	148. Think

**008. Think**

Though Processes

House always said that asking him to stop thinking was like asking the rain to stop falling or the sun to stop shining. It was just something he did. He was fairly sure he was still thinking when he was asleep. It would certainly explain why he often woke up with the answer to a problem in the forefront of his mind. The only thing could make him stop thinking for any appreciable amount of time was sex and even that was a hit or miss approach.

Hookers could barely hold his attention long enough for him to get off. But that was to be expected. If you didn't care much about something, it was never going to hold your attention long enough to matter.

Stacy had usually managed to make him stop thinking for an appreciable period of time. But then again, she'd been enthusiastic, inventive and even more than a little wicked in bed. She was fun…at least before the infarction. The few times they'd tried to have sex afterwards, she'd been too tentative, too aware of his leg too distract him sufficiently.

Ah, but Wilson…Wilson could derail his thought processes like no one else. Wilson could focus like a champion when it was required of him and having that focus aimed at you was a considerable aphrodisiac. That focus could pick up the slightest hint from your body language…particularly when Wilson was so good at reading it in the first place…and in an odd way it demanded an equal focus in return. And when his attention was so intently focussed on Wilson, he could forget everything he wanted to forget and finally stop thinking.


	149. Disgust

**009. Disgust**

Intolerant

House limped out of the bar, Wilson close on his heels, both of them laughing. They turned towards where they had left the car but Wilson stopped before they had taken more than a few steps.

"I think I'm too drunk to drive," he said with a rueful smile.

"You think?" House said with amusement as he leaned casually on his cane.

"Alright. I _know_ I'm too drunk to drive," Wilson replied.

"Well, since it probably wouldn't look too good for the respected Head of Oncology to get arrested for DUI, you'd better find us a taxi," House replied then he paused with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Just not right now."

"House," Wilson said warningly. "What are you planning?"

House limped towards Wilson with that wicked grin still on his face. Wilson backed away, torn between laughing and scolding. A sudden drop in the level of light made him looked around and he realised House had backed him into the entrance of the alley next to the bar. When he looked back, House was right in front of him and a moment later he was pressed against the brick wall of the bar.

"Sneaky," he said, giving in to his amusement as he rested his hands on House's hips.

"It's my middle name," House said smugly as he settled himself more comfortably against his lover.

"Really? I thought it was bastard," Wilson replied with a grin.

"Only on Mondays," House replied before leaning in and kissing Wilson.

"Mmm," Wilson murmured into the kiss, returning it with enthusiasm as he pulled House even closer.

They were both so involved in the kiss that they didn't hear the three men until they were almost on top of them.

"We don't want no fags around here," came the disgusted voice from the leader, a burly blond with almost no neck.

House and Wilson pulled apart in surprise but before either of them could react or say anything further the blond reached out and dragged House out of the alley. House gave a shout as the sudden movement jarred his leg and he lost hold of his cane. Wilson leapt forward but was caught by one of the blond's friends and shoved to the ground. The next several minutes were a flurry of punches and kicks. Wilson could hear House's gasps and curses through his own cries then he heard his lover scream.

"Hey!"

The sudden shout came from further away and the three thugs swore. With a last kick, they ran and Wilson gasped and choked as he tried to move towards where he could hear House's hoarse breathing. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder and whipped his head around, moaning when the injudicious move caused it to start pounding.

"Easy, buddy," came the same voice that had shouted just before. "We've called for an ambulance and the cops. You just stay still."

"House!" Wilson coughed.

There was a moment of silence and the hand on his shoulder tightened fractionally.

"Your friend doesn't look too good."

Wilson drew in a painful breath and pushed himself onto to his knees. The hand on his shoulder shifted and caught him when he almost fell.

"Jesus, buddy, I don't think you should move."

Wilson glanced around to see the barman who'd served them earlier looking at him with concern. He shook his head fractionally then looked around to find his lover. House was lying on his side a few feet away, one of the barmaids kneeling beside him, talking softly to him with a gentle hand on his shoulder as he drew in short, sharp, gasping breaths. The barman helped him stagger over to House's side and he dropped to his knees. The barmaid was trying to keep House calm and Wilson could see the worry and fear in her eyes.

"I think he's got a punctured lung," she said with a waver in her voice when she saw Wilson. "His breathing sounds exactly like my brother's did when he was in a car accident a year ago."

"She…may…be right," House gasped, his voice a bare whisper.

Wilson shifted a bit closer to his lover, ignoring the pain from his own wounds.

"The world must be ending," he said with as much humour as he could muster; his jaw ached abominably. "Greg House agreeing with someone about a medical matter."

One corner of House's mouth twitched upwards and his eyes flickered open for a moment, pain and humour shining through for a moment before he closed them again. The sound of sirens wailing in the night became noticeable.

"Said…_may_," House forced out.

The barmaid smiled as the barman chuckled. Wilson slumped down next to House and rested one hand on his neck, both for comfort and to judge House's pulse. It was elevated but not dangerously so and Wilson relaxed a little. The sounds of sirens grew and an ambulance came speeding around the corner, pulling up beside them. The next few minutes were a flurry of questions, prodding and poking from the paramedics and Wilson concern grew when he saw how passive House was other than a few snarky comments, mild by his usual standards.

"We're going to take you both to Princeton General, Dr Wilson," the paramedic who had been examining him said calmly.

Wilson shook his head. "Princeton-Plainsboro."

"General's closer," the paramedic replied.

"We both work at Princeton-Plainsboro," Wilson explained as the paramedic helped him to his feet.

He was in _far_ better condition than House; bruises all over his back, a spilt lip, a small cut over one eye, a badly bruised jaw, nothing more than that. House, however, had at least one broken rib and the punctured lung in addition to a substantial amount of bruising. The paramedics were also worried about internal bleeding.

The paramedic gave him a long look. "Fine. Princeton-Plainsboro it is."

The police had arrived by this stage and as he and House were loaded into the ambulance, Wilson could see the barmaid and the barman being questioned. The paramedic that had been treating them had a quick word with one of the police officers then the doors were being closed and the ambulance was underway. Wilson settled himself as best as he could with the bruising on his back and leaned over towards House.

"They're going to find out about us," he said quietly, watching as the paramedic worked on House with swift efficiency.

"Inevitable," House replied shortly then he groped towards Wilson with one hand.

Wilson caught the hand with surprise and gave it a squeeze.

"Good for…my rep," House whispered with a shadow of his usual smirk. "Explains…a lot...'bout you."

Wilson couldn't help but laugh at that and he could see the amusement on the paramedic's face out of the corner of his eye.

"You probably right on both scores," Wilson said dryly, reassured by House's acceptance of the matter.

He settled back in the seat as best as he could, House's hand still in his, and let the ambulance take them to the hospital.


	150. Shelter

**010. Shelter**

Safe Haven

Wilson walked in the door of House's apartment and felt the day's stresses start to bleed off almost immediately. For the length of their friendship, House's place had always been his safe haven. A place he could go where he wasn't expected to be the Oncology Department's wunderkind, where he didn't have to be nice or caring or pleasant. Where he could just be himself.

House never expected anything of him…except perhaps to pay for food or beer. They could...and indeed often had…spent entire evenings sitting side by side on the couch, watching a movie, drinking beer and not saying a word. Or they might spend the evening joyously mocking everything from each other to what was on the TV to their erstwhile colleagues. Or there were the evenings when House would be in a mellow mood and would play the piano for him. He knew that he was one of the few that were allowed to be here for that and he treasured those nights, not just for the music but for the trust that they signified.

He walked into the living room to find House slouched down on the sofa, beer in hand. The older man spared him the briefest of glances before returning his attention to the TV.

"Beer's in the fridge," House grunted.

Wilson smiled and stood still for a moment, the last of the tension fading away, then he turned and headed for the kitchen.


	151. Borrow

**011. Borrow**

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be

House was startled out of his current bout of wholesale pixelated destruction by the door to his office slamming open with enough force to make the glass shiver. That it was James Wilson responsible for this real life scene of almost shattering destruction raised it from startling to highly interesting.

"House!" Wilson yelped, running a distracted hand through his hand. "I need to borrow your cane."

House blinked and lowered his Gameboy. "You what?"

"I need to borrow your cane," Wilson repeated urgently while glancing over his shoulder.

"Why?" House demanded.

Wilson ran a hand through his hair again and licked his lips. "I…can't explain right now. House, please?"

House eyed his friend curiously and noticed that Wilson was practically vibrating with what seemed to be nerves, any moment he'd probably be jigging up and down. As he watched, Wilson glanced over his shoulder and out into the corridor one more time.

"House?" Wilson said urgently.

House leaned back in his chair and waved a casual hand. "Take it. Far be it from me to stand in your way. Besides it'll mean I have to stay here instead of going down to the clinic."

Wilson gave him a distracted smile and rushed forward to grab the cane leaning against the desk. "Thanks," he said absently and strode towards the door.

"Just remember to bring it back," House called to him, squashing down the vague feelings of disquiet that were lurching around in his chest.

Wilson paused at the door and looked back. He still seemed distracted but there was a hint of understanding in his eyes.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said then disappeared out into the corridor.


	152. Chair

**012. Chair**

What She Saw

Cameron walked into the darkened Diagnostic Medicine conference room and looked into House's office. The sight on the other side of the glass walls made her wince. The only light came from the light on the desk and it showed the form of House lying in the yellow armchair in the corner of his office with his headphones on and he only did that for two diametrically opposite reasons – either he was feeling very good or he was feeling very bad. He either retreated to the chair to ease the pain in his back and leg or he lounged there because he was feeling mellow and wanted to wallow in the feeling for a while.

She stood in the semi-darkness and watched her boss for a few minutes to work out which. As soon as she did, she sighed and grimaced. It was the former. He had that certain stiffness about the way he was half-sitting, half-lying that spoke of a losing battle with the pain. She took half a step forward then stopped. She wished she dared to go in, that House would accept comfort, _any_ sort of comfort, from her. But she knew from bitter experience that if she were to step inside that office right now, she'd leave it near tears and carrying her own head.

A movement from the other side of the office caught her eye and she looked over to see Dr Wilson open the door and walk in. She couldn't help the flare of jealousy that shot through her. Why was James Wilson allowed to take liberties that no one else was? Guilt shot through her as the thought 'What does he have that I don't?' rolled around her mind.

As she watched Wilson crouched down beside the chair and gently placed one hand on the armrest, barely brushing House's arm, his face neutral but his eyes full of concern. House's head lolled over to face Wilson and his eyes opened slowly. She saw Wilson ask a short question and House nodded once in reply. Wilson picked up the cane that was lying next to the chair, standing and stepping back a pace or two.

Cameron frowned at that. He was standing close enough that she thought he was going to help House get up but he never moved, never offered a hand. But he was standing too close to allow House to get up easily. As she watched House struggled to his feet, swaying into Wilson and staying there. Her eyes widened as Wilson raised his free hand and caught House around the waist while House lowered his forehead onto Wilson's shoulder.

Wilson turned his head slightly and Cameron saw him murmur something into House's ear that drew a small laugh. House raised his head and even thought she wasn't in the best position to see his expression, she could have sworn it was one of affection. Her jaw dropped the next moment when House leaned forward and brushed his lips against Wilson's. She swallowed hard as Wilson smiled back, a sweet, even loving smile, before he returned the favour.

They broke apart almost immediately after that and Wilson handed House his cane before walking over to grab his backpack. House waited until Wilson returned to his side then the two men headed out of the office, house limping a little more heavily than usual.

Cameron stood where she was for a long time after they'd left. She felt dazed and somewhat bruised and absolutely certain she wasn't meant to have seen that. She felt the jealousy rise again but this time it was tempered with wistful understanding. Now she knew what Wilson had that she didn't. She wouldn't say anything. House seemed if not happy, certainly content from what she'd seen and she liked and respected the man enough to let him have that. She turned around and put the file she'd been carrying onto the nearest desk and grabbed her coat and bag. As she left, she felt a certain regret and a small amount of contentment.


	153. Alter

**013. Alter**

Change Must Come

House had never really seen any reason to change his behaviour. He had his way of living and it suited him very well. It was perhaps vaguely self-destructive but given everything that had happened to him, he felt he deserved to have a little fun.

But as Wilson stalked out of the apartment, that fun seemed to turn a little sour.

House was never quite able to define the pattern of when Wilson was going to pick at him about his addiction or what form it was going to take. If it happened once a month or once every couple of months then he could plan for it, construct some kind of distraction to take the wind out of Wilson's sails until he was sufficiently side-tracked. But instead Wilson seemed to build up to some kind of critical mass that was impossible to predict…and impossible to see coming.

The form was usually the most predictable thing. It normally fell somewhere into the range of worried nagging or even just a few concerned words. House could handle _that_; a few snarky remarks and a scandalous speculation or two and Wilson would back off, usually with a look of amused exasperation. The weeklong detox had been Wilson's most inventive effort and only the look of horror on the younger man's face when he'd seen the mess House had made of his hand had stopped him from revealing that yes, he _did_ know who was behind that stunt and it certainly wasn't Cuddy. She just had the better bait at the time.

This though…now this was a new one. Of course, it probably only fell into the category of new because it was the first time Wilson had reached his critical mass since they'd started sleeping together but still…it _was_ new. Ferocious argument and angrily storming out of a room weren't usually Wilson's modus operandi. He usually chose a more 'softly, softly' approach which was, oddly enough, more effective. House always blamed the eyes.

But as effective as Wilson's 'softly, softly' approach usually was, _this_ was showing signs of beating it hands down. House _absolutely_ did not want to categorise the tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest but he did know he wanted it to go away. He just wasn't exactly sure how to make that happen other than the obvious and he wasn't sure he wanted to go down that path either. But he was well aware that you could only push people so far…and that even Wilson's patience had its limits. He was also aware that things had changed between them; no matter how well he might deny it, he knew it had happened. He'd been happy to let sleeping dogs lie, as such. As long as nobody pointed out that things had changed then he didn't have to do anything more than tacitly acknowledge it, leave it alone and hope that nothing ruined it. Except now it looked like _he_ was going to ruin it.

House grimaced and took a deep breath. He clench his hand around his cane as he stared at the floor then he slowly got to his feet. He limped towards the front door and hesitated a long moment before opening it. He gave a start as he realised that Wilson hadn't exactly left and was leaning against the wall between the two apartment doors in the small foyer. He was staring at the door to the street, his expression pensive. As House watched, Wilson turned his head and looked at him expressionlessly.

House was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I'll try."

The shy, pleased smile that broke out on Wilson's face was worth the effort it had taken to say those words and House stepped back, wordlessly asking his lover to come back. Wilson pushed himself off the wall and walked in, pausing in front of House and gently brushing one cheek with his fingers.

"Thank you."


	154. Peace

**014. Peace**

Acres

Wilson lay on his side in the bed, his head propped up on one hand, and watched the man lying next to him. House was asleep, sprawled on his back with one hand resting on his stomach and the other lying limp in the bed. The sheets were bunched around his waist and he looked utterly peaceful.

Wilson could count on one hand the numbers of times he'd seen House looking truly peaceful since the infarction. While House could often lose many the signs of stress and pain when he was asleep, there were always hints remaining of what he endured during the day. But now…now he looked like he was at peace with the world for once.

As he watched the hand lying on House's stomach twitched slightly and the man's eyes slowly opened to reveal a blue made muzzy by sleep and contentment.

"Hey," House said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Hey," Wilson said softly in return.

"Watcha doin'?" House asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice and eyes as he woke up a little more.

Wilson let a slow smile grow on his face. "Acres and acres and it's all mine," he said with a laugh.

One of House's eyebrows shot up at that and he blinked. "Last time I looked I wasn't the fat lady in a circus."

"What?" Wilson said, his train of thought, which had been leaning towards taking advantage of the fact that House was awake, completely and utterly derailed.

House smirked and shifted slightly, bringing one hand up behind his head. Throughout all of this he had not once lost that contented look. "You used a punch line to a joke that I _definitely _don't fit."

"I did? I didn't even know it was part of a joke," he replied.

House snickered. "A man gets a room in an inn; it was hard to get because there is a Faire going on and the innkeeper warns him that there are some Faire performers staying there, including a newlywed husband and wife. He settles down for the night, when he hears a tremendous ruckus to his right; it's a whole troupe of musicians practicing and it's an hour before they shut up. Then there's another ruckus to the left; it's a dancer and her drummer practicing and they take an hour. Then there's a ruckus across the hall, and this time it's a dancing bear and it's an hour before they settle down. Finally it's after midnight and he falls asleep, when the worst noise of all starts upstairs; it sounds like an entire acrobatic team is up there practicing. Infuriated, he runs up the stairs and pounds on the door---no response. He knocks harder and the door falls open. There he sees a midget jumping up and down like a rubber ball with glee. Just beginning to take off her wedding gown is his new wife, the biggest fat lady the man has ever seen. Oblivious to everything else, the midget is shouting at the top of his lungs..."

Wilson automatically filled in the punch line and started laughing. He flopped down onto his back and scrubbed his face with one hand.

"You know, I was just trying to express how happy I was without you making some pithy comment," he said wryly.

House sobered slightly and rolled on his side. He seemed to consider matters for a moment then he smiled, a rare happy smile.

"Life's good," he said simply.

Wilson beamed then his smile turned slightly wicked. "Even if you are the fat lady in a circus."


	155. Devious

**Well, I'd best whack a warning in front of this one. It is definately rated M for Smutty McSmut! Enjoy!**

**015. Devious**

Giving Orders

Anyone who had known Gregory House for any length of time would be able to tell you that the man was devious. James Wilson, who had known House longer than anyone else, could give you chapter and verse on how devious the man was. He could write essays, theses, chapters, hell, even whole multi-volume _books_ on the deviousness of Greg House. And yet, in spite of his ample experience, he still managed to end up in situations like this.

Admittedly he wasn't exactly _averse_ to being in this situation; it wasn't _unpleasant_. In fact it certainly had its merits. In fact, though he was reluctant to admit it, being tied to House's bed with his own ties was kind of…hot.

It was also extraordinarily frustrating.

Mostly because right now, House was simply lying naked on his side next to him and smirking at him instead of actually doing something…_anything_.

"House? Are you planning on actually _doing_ anything?" Wilson said aiming for calm and sort of making it, though it was possible the slight whine in his voice gave lie to that.

"I _am_ doing something," House replied smugly. "I'm _looking_."

"How about something else?" Wilson asked, shifting on the bed in a futile attempt to get some kind of friction on his erect cock.

"Like what?" House said with completely artificial curiosity and an utterly false innocent look on his face.

"You could touch me?" Wilson said, the whine becoming more evident.

"Touch you, huh?" House said pensively though there was a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He reached out with one finger and poked Wilson in the ribs once before retreating. "There you go."

Wilson _absolutely_ did not whimper. "Greg!" he whined, not even bothering to hide it this time.

"James," House mocked and Wilson immediately ranked him in the top ten in his evil genius list.

Wilson bucked on the bed, pulling uselessly at his bonds, momentarily unable to articulate what he wanted. House watched him with smug amusement the whole time and Wilson mentally bumped House up a few notches on that list.

"Touch me!" Wilson demanded.

"I did," House replied, watching him intently.

"Not like that," Wilson replied, shifting again, trying to get closer to House.

"How then?" House said immediately, his voice suddenly hoarse and his eyes darkening, and Wilson got it.

He shivered for a moment at the dichotomy of being utterly helpless and yet completely in control then he swallowed hard.

"Kiss me," he said at the end of a sharp gasp.

The barest of smiles appeared on House's lips then he leaned forward and took Wilson's mouth in a kiss of sheer carnality, lust and desire. Wilson moaned into it and raised his head, trying to get even deeper. But House inexplicably pulled away, drawing a definite whimper this time from Wilson.

"Kiss me again," he said, his voice croaky.

House leaned in again and resumed the kiss until they were forced to separate, gasping and panting. For a brief second House pressed close then he moved back to where he'd been lying at the start of all of this.

"Touch me," Wilson rasped. "My chest, stomach, anywhere."

He saw dark squalls of lust flare in House's eyes then his own eyes closed as long, slightly calloused hands started drifting over his chest, brushing his nipples and moving away then returning to pinch and twist them into hard nubs. He moaned at the sensation, soft words of encouragement alternating with equally soft curses. Then the hands left again, caressing his collarbones briefly before roaming downwards and stroking the soft skin on his stomach. He felt the bed shift then those hands were roaming over his hips and down his legs, pausing to rub the sensitive skin behind his knees then loving on until they gently stroked the tops of his feet.

"More," he groaned.

"What?" House said in a low voice full of arousal.

Wilson felt a blush growing but he knew…_knew_…the game House was playing and he shoved down his embarrassment.

"Kiss me. Lick me." He hesitated. "Suck me."

He heard a low, slightly strangled moan from House and opened his eyes. The older man was lying halfway down the bed, his eyes dark, only a thin line of blue visible around the pupils. The arousal in those eyes made Wilson moan as well and his hips bucked involuntarily. When he felt the first soft kiss on the top off his foot, his head fell back against the pillows and he wrapped his hands around the ties leading from his wrists.

House slowly kissed, licked, nibbled his way back up his body as he moaned and whimpered and spoke broken words of delight. He gasped when House bit sharply at his hip then sighed as the bite was laved with a quick lick and kiss. He whimpered in frustration when House kept moving up instead of sideways and his hips jerked again.

The kisses and licks stopped and House chuckled. "Am I going to have to pin you to the bed?"

Wilson's hard, leaking dick twitched at that and he could almost _hear_ House's eyebrow going up.

"That's something to remember," House said smugly.

Wilson opened his mouth to say something but his words die in a strangled gasp as House's mouth closed on his nipple and bit down. The bite wasn't hard, barely a nip, but it sent ripples of sensation through Wilson's body and he arched into the contact, barely aware that he was babbling. House spent some time on that nipple, repeating that nip and adding licks and kisses, then he moved over to the other one. By the time he decided he was finished, Wilson was writhing on the bed.

"Please, Greg," he pleaded as he looked over at his lover. House seemed perfectly in control, even a little smug.

"Please what?" House asked, his voice the only indication that the control was somewhat illusory.

"S…suck me," Wilson stammered.

"Where?" House asked and Wilson finally moved House to the top of his list.

"M…my dick," Wilson said with a gasp. "Please."

House gave him a heated smirk. "Since you ask so nicely."

Any reply Wilson was contemplating was destroyed when House all but swallowed his cock in one swift move. Wilson wailed and bucked, unable to stop himself. House didn't seem to mind and swiftly shifted around so that he could anchor Wilson's hips to the bed. Once he'd done that he proceeded to suck and lick Wilson's dick like it was one of his lollipops, making obscene slurping noises that Wilson was sure would come back to haunt him the next time he saw House with one of the lollies. Wilson was unable to do more than gasp in breaths and make indistinct moans and whimpers, summoning all of what remained of his brain to manage a harsh "Nnggh!" just before he came. He dimly felt House's hips bucking against his thigh and then a wet warmth before he succumbed to his post-coital haze.

When he felt some sense flow back, the first thing he realised was that he'd been untied. The second was that he had been covered with the sheets and blankets and the third was that there was someone warm pressed up against his side, drawing patterns on his chest. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes with a lazy, sated smile.

House was draped half over him and he quickly wrapped his arms around his lover.

"That was…unbelievable," he murmured as he realised that House was drawing an anatomically correct diagram of a lung on his chest.

"Of course it was," House said smugly and Wilson somehow refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Did you…?" he began.

House snorted and began drawing a diagram of what Wilson thought might be a spleen. "You have that effect on me," House said in an offhand manner.

"Cool," Wilson replied, unable to summon enough brain cells to manage anything more profound though he really liked the idea of House getting off on getting _him_ off.

House snorted again then his hand stilled for a moment and Wilson could feel him smiling against his shoulder. "Yeah."

Wilson settled himself a little more comfortably and drew House a bit closer. "Next time it's your turn," he murmured as sleep dragged him down, smiling when he felt House's shudder and knowing that was a definite yes.


	156. Beach

**016. Beach**

Sun, Sand and Surf

House came to halt as they reached the gate and gave Wilson a long look.

"We're going to the Bahamas?" he said with displeasure.

Wilson grinned. "Cuddy said you needed to relax. Where better to do that than the Bahamas?"

House's expression grew stiff and unyielding. "Sand and I aren't really close acquaintances anymore," he growled.

Wilson gave him a patient look. "House, trust me."

House gave him a sour look but started walking again. They sat down near the service desk and waited until they could board the plane. House tapped his cane against the floor in a rhythm that might have been nervous or possibly just irritated. Wilson leaned back in his seat and watched his friend surreptitiously. House hadn't quite been the same since the shooting. He suspected it had more to do with the fact that the ketamine hadn't worked than the actual shooting itself. House had never really taken disappointment that well and as disappointments go this had been one of the biggest.

Wilson had been disappointed as well. The thought that House might be able to wean himself off the Vicodin completely had raised an enormous amount of hope in him. House would still have limped, would still have had to use the cane, there wasn't a treatment out there that could replace muscle tissue, but the lack of constant pain would have been a godsend. But once again, House's luck played him false and the treatment didn't work.

House had been exceptionally vitriolic since he'd been back at work. Cameron had caught the brunt of it but Wilson wasn't sure if that was because of House's disappointment or because of the way she was acting around him. He suspected it had more to do with the latter since Foreman had not caught anywhere near as much flak as Cameron. But it had finally gotten so bad that Cuddy had stormed into his office a week ago and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to take House away from the hospital. She didn't care where, just _away_. They were to stay away long enough for House to relax a bit or for the staff to stop making plans to lynch him, whichever came first.

The first boarding call drew Wilson out of his thoughts and he looked over to see House scowling at the young women who were cheerfully waiting. He sighed; House hated having to acknowledge his disability in circumstances that weren't to his benefit and that oh-so-public first call for anyone with young children or disabilities to come forward and board first always put him the worst of moods. It was one of the main reasons House rarely flew these days.

He put his hand on House's shoulder and gave it a tiny squeeze.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Before the women with children get here and you're tempted to beat them with your cane."

House gave him a sour look though Wilson did see a quick gleam of humour before the other man stood. Wilson quickly joined him and they made their slow way onto the plane. Wilson had had the forethought to book first class tickets, which allowed for extra legroom and not so incidentally a better class of food. It had cost him a fair bit on such short notice but he considered it money well spent when he got the quick grateful smile from House as they settled into their seats.

He was relieved when House, for the large part, behaved himself on the flight. He'd prepared ahead by packing several medical journals with articles that he was sure would provide ample mockery opportunity and House _did_ have his iPod and Gameboy. When he handed over the journals to the surprised but amused House, Wilson reflected briefly that travelling with House was somewhat akin to travelling with a large, grouchy, occasionally hyperactive child.

It wasn't until the end of the flight that House started getting restless and when he popped a couple of Vicodin with a set expression on his face, Wilson resisted the urge to say anything. Even with the best of seats, House's leg did not travel well.

Finally the pilot announced their final descent and they landed with the barest of bumps. When they arrived at the terminal, Wilson grabbed House's bag along with his own and got a brief glance from his companion. The fact that House didn't grumble, sulk or argue about his action told Wilson louder than words about the amount of pain House was in. They slowly shuffled off the plane and into the terminal, claiming their luggage and held up only briefly in customs and immigration then they were walking out into the terminal where there was a bored looking young man waiting with a sign with Wilson's name on it.

He gave House a nudge and they walked over. The young man led them out to a car and opened the door for them. He then loaded their luggage in the boot and climbed in the driver's seat.

"So are you going to tell me the big secret about where we're going now?" House grumbled, looking out the window as they drove away from the airport.

"There's no secret," Wilson said patiently. "We're going to spend a week in a nice resort where you are going to _attempt_ to relax and probably drive me crazy."

A smile flashed over House's face before he scowled. "I hate sand," he said in a manner that was deliberately provocative.

"You'll like this sand," Wilson replied.

"I didn't pack a bathing suit," House said next, ignoring the fact that he hadn't been swimming since before the infarction.

"I know," Wilson replied, managing to not roll his eyes by dint of sheer willpower. "I packed some for you."

House blinked at that. "You did?" he said, a hint of _something_ uncertain in his voice.

"You'll like them," Wilson replied blandly. "Board shorts. Knee length. Hawaiian pattern. They're very garish."

House tensed then relaxed a little. "I didn't pack a book," he complained though there was a distinct hint of humour in his voice now.

"I packed four," Wilson said with exasperation. "Big, thick ones. Small writing. Convoluted plotlines."

The car pulled into the driveway of what looked like a large, sprawling resort; lots of small huts spread out through lush gardens with a large main building that they were now in front of.

"We're here," the driver said with a broad smile. He looked like he wanted to laugh at them but was too polite to do so while they were within earshot.

They climbed out of the car and the porter came forward to take their luggage. They followed him into the building and up to the desk. House looked around curiously as Wilson sorted out the details then the porter led them out of the building and along a pathway that wound through the gardens, past huts and pools until they reached a hut that faced the beach. The porter took their bags in and Wilson gave him a tip.

House had limped a few steps further on and was staring down at the wooden boardwalk that led from the hut down to the beach. It then stretched for a considerable distance in either direction along the beach and even down into the water. He turned and saw that the hut had both a set of steps and a low switchback ramp leading up the airy veranda. Wilson was standing on the veranda giving him a questioning look and looking rather adorably concerned, something that House wouldn't admit even if he were being tortured.

"You brought a bathing suit for me," he said blandly as he limped up the ramp towards Wilson.

Wilson nodded, trying to hide his nerves.

House didn't say anything more until he was on the veranda and standing directly in front of Wilson.

"You might be right," he said with a small, affectionate smile. "I think I might like this sand."

Wilson smiled and ran his hand down House's right arm, letting it come to rest over House's hand on the cane.

"I planned ahead," he said warmly.

House cocked an eyebrow and gave him an amused, speculative look that implied many things, all of them rather filthy.

"You're such a Boy Scout," he said, leaning in and destroying his lover's response with a kiss.

Wilson hummed and leaned into the kiss, truly relaxing for the first time since he realised he was going to have to somehow drag House on a holiday. He wrapped his free arm around House's waist and deepened the kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

"Let's go inside," Wilson suggested with a grin. "You need to relax."

House laughed for the first time since the shooting and waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculously lecherous manner.

"Lead on, Jimmy boy."


	157. True

**017. True**

Two Sides

Wilson leaned against the low wall that separated his half of the balcony from House. He stared flatly in through the balcony door to House's office. House was slumped in the chair behind his desk, staring at the desktop and brooding. For once though, Wilson didn't care what House's problem was though he had a sick feeling he might already know. He watched and waited until he saw first Chase, then Foreman and finally Cameron leave, the latter shooting House a glance that was a mix of worry and disapproval.

Wilson walked forward and pushed the door open. He let it thump closed behind him then walked over and closed the blinds. He didn't want what was about to happen to become a spectator sport. When he turned back to face House the older man gave him a single curious look then his gaze skittered away. Wilson's face hardened and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is it true?" he said bluntly.

Again he got the barest flicker of a glance before House looked away again.

"Jesus, it is, isn't it?" Wilson said angrily. "I wasn't imagining things when I got home last night. You had sex with Stacy in _our_ bed."

House's jaw tightened but he didn't say a word in either agreement or denial. He also wouldn't meet Wilson's eyes.

Wilson glared at his lover silently for a long moment then his anger suddenly evaporated, replaced with bone-aching weariness and despair.

"Why?" he asked softly. "I know…I know you don't love me. I _know_ that part is one-sided. But…I thought you at least _respected_ me. Jesus, Greg…" His voice trailed off.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence in the room.

"Hypocrite," House said sharply.

Wilson's anger flared again. "Be that as it may," he snapped. "_I'm_ not the one who cheated. I haven't wanted to, wasn't planning on it. I was _happy_!"

House didn't answer and he looked away again.

"Why?" Wilson demanded. "Are you leaving me for her? I know she divorced Mark. Guess she's got a _great_ track record with disabled men. Come on, Greg. I think I deserve to know."

Wilson glared at House, his hands now on his hips. House flicked another glance at Wilson then he stared at his shoes and grimaced.

"It's not…one-sided," he admitted reluctantly.

Wilson frowned. "What?"

House finally looked up at his lover though his face was opaque. "It's not one-sided," he said flatly.

Wilson stared for a moment as he deciphered that. Once he had, his jaw sagged for a moment and delight lit up his eyes then his expression hardened.

"You'll forgive me if I don't exactly believe you," he said snidely.

"What do you want from me? An engraved plaque. You knew what I was like going into this," House snarled defensively.

"I thought I did," Wilson replied. "I thought you'd be the last person to cheat. Guess I was wrong. And if I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about?"

House looked away; his hands flitted around for a moment before settling on the handle of his cane. He was silent, staring at his shoes for a long, long moment.

"I don't know why," he admitted reluctantly.

"How can you not know why?" Wilson said with irritation. "I always had a reason. Not always a good one but it was a reason. You're going to have to do better than that."

"I don't know why," House snapped, enunciating each word clearly, his head snapping up to glare right back at Wilson. He grimaced before continuing in a softer tone, "I don't know why. She…offered, I accepted, I don't know why."

Wilson sighed and sat down heavily in the arm chair in the corner of the room. "Were…are you tired of…us?"

"No," House said, his glare fading into a worn out look.

Wilson hesitated then asked the question that had been haunting him since he found out what had happened.

"Are you…getting back together with her?"

House looked at him with surprise. "No," he said firmly.

"Why not?" Wilson asked, wanting to keep poking the sore spot for some reason. "She does. I could tell that much when I saw her today." He paused. "Does she even know about us?"

"No, she doesn't," House said, looking down at his shoes again. "And I don't care what she wants. I don't…want to be with her."

"Jesus, Greg, I just don't understand you," Wilson said with exasperation. "Last time she was here, you chase after her until you get her into bed then send her off to her husband. This time you do almost the same kind of thing. Is this a new thing with Stacy whenever she turns up? You pester her, screw her then dump her. Trying for some kind of episodic revenge?"

House scowled down at the floor and didn't answer.

"Can you at least tell me why you don't want to be with her?" Wilson demanded. "For my own curiosity, if nothing else."

House continued his silence for a long moment. "She still won't look at my leg," he finally said.

"You don't like people looking at your leg," Wilson said, suddenly wary. "Not even me."

"You do it anyway," House countered, looking uncomfortable. "You touch it."

"It's part of you," Wilson replied matter-of-factly, realising where Stacy had failed and feeling unaccountably smug. "It's not _all_ that you are but it _is_ part of what makes you _you_. Why would I try to deny that?"

"She does," House said flatly.

"She feels guilty," Wilson replied, not really knowing why except that he'd made a sudden decision that he wasn't going to be like his ex-wives; he wasn't going to let House go without a fight. "She'll probably always feel guilty."

"Then you know why I don't want to be with her," House said with a scowl.

"But you'll screw her casually whenever you feel like it," Wilson said, deliberately extending the goad.

House's head snapped up and he transferred the scowl to Wilson. "Jesus, you _are_ a fucking hypocrite. You never seemed to have much of a problem screwing around on your many wives. Why the hell are you riding me?"

"It was our bed, Greg," Wilson said angrily. "You fucked Stacy in _our_ bed. At least I had the decency to take them to a damn hotel."

"So it would have been alright if I'd taken her to a hotel?" House snarled back.

"NO!" Wilson yelled. "It wasn't alright to take her _anywhere_!"

He slumped back in his chair and scrubbed his face with one hand.

"You're jealous," House said with a hint of surprise.

Wilson froze for a second. "Of course I'm jealous," he snarled. "What the fuck did you expect? I told you I loved you. I _meant_ it."

House stared at Wilson for a long, long moment. Wilson wasn't sure what his lover was looking for but he apparently seemed to find it. House turned his head so that he could stare out the window into the growing dark then he sighed. It sounded as though he'd given up whatever battle he'd been fighting. He turned back and looked Wilson in the eye, every wall gone, everything he was feeling plain in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

Wilson's jaw sagged as he both heard the words and saw in House's eyes that they were the simple truth; no tricks, no artifice, just honest-to-god truth. He swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak at the moment.

"And I…meant what I said before," House continued, starting to look a little uncomfortable, his gaze dropping away again. "It's not one-sided."

"What isn't?" Wilson said, his chin coming up and challenge written all over his face.

He wanted…_needed_…House to say it. He knew he was asking a lot but for once he needed something for himself. He watched as the emotions flickered across House's expressive face; reluctance, hesitation, _fear_. Then the other man looked over at him and those negative emotions flowed away, replaced by apology, affection, the barest of amusement and finally, _finally_, the one thing Wilson had wanted but never expected to see.

"You're…actually going to make me say it, aren't you?" House said ruefully, just the hint of a plea in his eyes.

"Only if you mean it," Wilson replied.

House sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Yeah, I mean it."

He fell silent again and Wilson waited him out.

"I…you're an insecure, hypocritical idiot who should know better than to get involved with me," House said with what Wilson could tell was an insincere scowl. "I was an idiot to sleep with Stacy, it won't happen again and I…I love you."

Wilson's lips twitched and he struggled against a smile. He should have known he wouldn't get a heartfelt declaration but he liked what he'd gotten; it was more genuine.

"Good," he said with satisfaction. "I want you to tell Stacy about us."

House gave him a jaundiced look. "Do I have to?" he whined and Wilson somehow felt the pieces of their friendship and relationship fall mostly back into place. "Can't we just let her catch us playing tonsil hockey or something?"

Wilson raised a speculative eyebrow then shrugged. "Okay."

He almost laughed at the sudden suspicion that ran across House's face.

"Okay?" House said warily. "Since when are you 'okay' about public displays of affection?"

"Since you slept with Stacy and I found out I _can_ be possessive," Wilson replied blandly.

He almost laughed again at the look of speculation and mischief that appeared on his lover's face. He stood and walked over to lean on the desk.

"Get your bag," he said casually. "You can come up with whatever embarrassing plan you want on the way home."

Surprise flickered through House's eyes for a moment then he nodded and got to his feet. Wilson waited while House got ready then he smirked.

"_You_ are changing the sheets on the bed though," he said firmly. "Before we go to bed tonight. Or I sleep on the sofa."

House gave him a long look then nodded once, soberly. Then he gave a very put upon sigh and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, dear."


	158. Crazy

**This one also gets a warning. Again rated M for Smutty McSmut! grins**

**018. Crazy**

Worth It

"House, you're crazy," Wilson said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the man who had just locked the door and was now looking at him with an expression of lewd amusement.

"So people keep saying," House said contemplatively as he limped towards Wilson. "But no one's ever proven it."

Wilson backed away from the oncoming man until he bumped into his own desk. Before he could move around the desk, House was standing in front of him, close enough that if he tried to walk away he'd knock the other man over.

"I have work to do," Wilson said defensively, leaning back slightly. "_You_ have work to do. You're supposed to be in the Clinic."

House grinned. "Why do you think I'm here instead?"

"Cuddy will be looking for you and she has a key to this office," Wilson warned as House stepped forward a bit more, stepping in between Wilson's slightly spread feet and nudging his leg with his good knee.

"She won't be looking for me," House said confidently. "Cameron's down in the Clinic. Besides Cuddy's in the middle of a meeting right now."

Wilson almost unconsciously spread his legs a bit further then sucked in a sharp breath when House moved forward again.

"House, I have an appointment," he said, aiming for firm but suspecting that he only managed to make desperate.

"No, you don't," House said as he grabbed Wilson's tie and yanked it off. "Your appointment was cancelled."

"By the patient or by you?" Wilson demanded in a last ditch effort to stave off the inevitable.

House moved forward, erasing the remaining space between them. Wilson's breath caught as House's warmth bled through his trousers and shirt and he instantly became almost painfully hard. House grinned at him and ground their erections together, chuckling at Wilson's moan.

"The patient," he said as he fisted his hand in Wilson's shirt and pulled him closer. "I checked."

House didn't let Wilson say anything else, he let go of his cane and used his newly freed hand to pull his lover's head forward and into a searing kiss. Wilson heard the thwack of the cane hitting the desk then the thump as it hit the floor but it was nothing more than fleeting realisation as he abandoned his earlier complaints and gave in to the kiss. He moaned deep in the back of his throat as House's tongue swept through his mouth then he gathered enough working brain cells to return the favour. By the time they were forced to separate in order to suck in some much needed oxygen, Wilson no longer cared about his work, Cuddy or any other possibility of being caught in what would most _definitely_ be a compromising situation.

He gasped when House leaned in and sucked his earlobe into his mouth then gave it a gentle bite. His hands were resting on House's hips and they tightened hard enough to bruise when House whispered in his ear.

"I want to fuck you over your desk."

Wilson swallowed hard. "Yes," he gasped, something that changed to a whimper of complaint when House pulled away.

"Pants," House growled as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

Wilson fumbled with the zipper on his trousers as House tossed something on the desk. He glanced around briefly and flushed at the sight of the small tube of lube; clearly House had been planning this. He shoved his pants and boxers down and turned, seeing House shrug off his jacket and start on his jeans as he did so.

"Fuck, James," House said hoarsely and Wilson felt a warm, slightly calloused hand slide up his back under his shirt.

"I think that's the idea," he replied as he spread his legs as far apart as he could with his pants caught around his ankles.

"Yeah," came the growled reply then he felt the warmth return as House plastered himself against his back.

He made a small indistinct sound and shifted back, feeling House's hard cock against the cleft of his arse and the rasp and sting of his jeans against his thighs. He heard House's breath catch then the lube was snatched off the desk. He felt the warmth move then long slick fingers slid down his arse. He moaned and pushed back as a finger circled his hole then made a sound that might have been 'Yes' when the finger pushed inside.

House rested his forehead on Wilson's shoulder and wrapped his arm around his lover's waist as he slid first one, then two fingers in and out. He had no intention of going further than that. They'd done this often enough that he knew he wouldn't hurt Wilson and he wanted it to be tight and hot. This was going to have to be quick. He'd once said to Wilson that he didn't do sex standing up any more and he was fairly sure Wilson hadn't taken him overly seriously, probably because he been pressed up against Wilson in the kitchen and had been adding some impressive marks to his neck. But he'd been serious; sex while bracing most of his weight on one leg was asking for trouble and using both legs was guaranteeing a world of pain. But if he was quick, he knew he could get the pleasure before the pain came.

With that thought in mind, he pulled his fingers out, grinning briefly at the quiet curse that action got from Wilson. He shifted so that he could grab his lover's hips then with a quick move he thrust in, groaning as he was surrounding by tight heat.

"Greg!" Wilson cried, throwing his head back. "Oh, Christ, yes."

House braced himself then withdrew. He slammed back in and repeated the action again and again to the chorus of Wilson's eager encouragement and his own breathless grunts. The growing feel of his oncoming orgasm grew faster than he really wanted but as fast as he actually _needed_ since he could also feel the pain starting to thread its way up his spine.

"Jimmy!" he gasped out.

Wilson seemed to know what he wanted and he shifted one hand to support himself better then moved the other to his dick. He stroked it hard, matching House's thrusts, then swallowed a howl as he came, semen splattering over the front of his desk.

House made a guttural sound as Wilson arse clenched around his dick and his thrusts became sharp and erratic as he came, emptying himself into his lover. He slumped down over Wilson's back and sucked in breath after panting breath, his hands still gripping Wilson's hips hard. He was still gasping when the pain overcame the euphoria and he swore. He let go of Wilson's hips and staggered backwards, his leg crumpling under him, spilling him to the ground. Wilson turned and hurried towards him, nearly tripping over his pants and finally kicking them off savagely before he dropped to his knees on the floor.

"Pills. Jacket," House said through gritted teeth as he grabbed at his thigh.

He dimly heard Wilson move then the rattle of the pills. He took the proffered pill and swallowed, tempted to ask Wilson for another.

"Shit. You knew this was going to happen," Wilson said, his voice thick with guilt.

"Shut up," House growled. "Yes, I did."

He looked over to find Wilson looking at him with guilt and concern.

"Felt good, didn't it?" he said before Wilson could ruin the moment any further than it already had been.

Wilson flushed and House chuckled through the pain though whether it was at the red staining his lover's cheeks or the ridiculous picture they must present right now, he didn't know.

"Yes," Wilson stammered. "_Very_ good."

"Worth it then," House replied as he closed his eyes and waited for the medication to kick in. "Some things are worth the pain, Jimmy."

There was a moment of silence then House felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, they are," Wilson replied, his voice full of meaning.


	159. Love

**019. Love**

Head In The Sand

"Love you."

The words had been murmured by Wilson as he fell asleep. Now three hours later, House lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Wilson was sprawled beside him, curled up, one arm flung across his chest. His own arms were wrapped around Wilson in return as his thoughts tumbled around his mind in endless circles.

Two words. Hours of turmoil. Typical. Wilson always did like to do things like this to him.

House wasn't sure he believed the words, wasn't sure he _wanted_ to believe the words. He _was_ sure that Wilson had said those words to his wives many times before and look how that had always ended up. Had they been said by reflex? Out of habit? He hoped they were. He hoped they weren't. He wasn't sure what he hoped.

Did he want Wilson to love him? Did he love Wilson? He didn't know. Didn't really want to think about it. Last person he'd loved had ruined his life. Okay, he was man enough to admit it had been largely because he was being pigheaded and stubborn but still…it was _his_ life that had been ruined, not hers. _He_ was the one left crippled and in pain. _She_ had left, moved on, got married, got a life.

He'd been left with Wilson. Not a bad trade, all things considered. They knew each other, knew each others strengths and weaknesses. Accepted those things about each other. Neither had illusions about the other or expected perfection. They worked well together, both professionally and personally. They fought…who didn't? But the fights were never final, never deal breakers.

But did he love Wilson? Did he want Wilson to love him? He wasn't sure he had a choice about the latter but the former was keeping him awake. He suspected there was a part of him that knew the answer to the question but was keeping quiet for reasons of its own.

Wilson shifted in his sleep, curling a little closer and burying his face into House's shoulder. House tightened his arms fractionally and Wilson murmured something sleepily pleased. House felt something clench in his chest and he swallowed. He determinedly closed his eyes and willed sleep to overtake him. He didn't want to think about this, _couldn't_ think about this. If he didn't think about this, neither of them could ruin it. If he didn't think about it, everything could keep going as it had been. Things had been going well, he wanted nothing to ruin it. He wouldn't _let_ anything ruin it.


	160. New

**020. New**

Something Old, Something New

Chase was the first to notice what was new about House. He didn't think it was because his powers of observation were any greater than his colleagues but more because he'd been here the longest and was more aware of their boss' quirks. He was actually surprised that Cameron hadn't been the first but then again, her attention had been drifting from House for some time now. Guess it was hard to maintain the idea of a deathless romance for too long against a wall of indifference.

Still she had been the second to notice. Chase had been there when she had and had found her reaction somewhat amusing. He'd been a bit worried about that. He was sure it meant that House was having more of an effect on him than he'd thought. But then he'd shrugged it off. It had been funny and at least he hadn't rubbed the whole thing into her face repeatedly like House would have. She'd gone rather pale and her eyes had gone wide as realisation sunk in. Her face had then flushed red and she'd disappeared out of the conference room for most of the day. She'd come back very late, looking surprisingly composed though Chase had noticed her eyes were red.

Cuddy had been the third to notice what was new about House and Chase had liked her reaction. It had started out like Cameron's with the wide eyes and the paling but then the older woman had seemed to collect herself and she smirked. Actually _smirked_. Right where House could see her. And House had smirked back. Smugly. Cuddy had rolled her eyes and made a few pithy comments then stalked out of the conference room. The only thing that had robbed Chase of more fun was the fact that Foreman hadn't been there to find out in such a manner.

In fact, Foreman had been the last to notice, something he always grumbled about. He seemed to think that Chase or Cameron should have told him. Cameron always glared at him and walked away. Chase always said mildly that if he hadn't noticed for _three weeks_ that House was wearing a wedding ring that matched the one Wilson was wearing then that was his own problem. He shouldn't rely on Chase to do all his observing for him because Chase's powers of observation really weren't _that_ good.


	161. Beggar

**021. Beggar**

It's Him

It was a quiet week in the Diagnostic Medicine department and Chase was taking a shift down in the ER when the beggar was brought in. He'd apparently had an argument with a dog which he'd lost, stumbled out into the road and been struck by a car. He was in bad shape when he was brought in and when Chase exchanged glances with the nurses he could tell that they all knew what he did – they weren't going to win this fight. Maybe if the man had been in better shape instead of suffering from years of self-neglect and self-abuse they might have had a chance but now…now all they could do was their best and it wasn't going to be enough.

It was with a sense of resigned frustration that Chase called the time of death and it was only a moment after that that one of the nurse called his name, her voice startled and shocked. He turned to see the nurse holding the dead man's wallet in one hand and a wrinkled, slightly tattered photograph in the other.

"I…I was looking for ID," she stammered. "The police wanted to know if there might be any next of kin. I found the wallet and…_this_ fell out of it."

She thrust the photo at him and Chase took it gingerly. He looked down at it and his eyes widened. The photograph was of three boys in their teens. He glanced over at the dead man and saw enough in the ravaged face to realise that the oldest of the teens was this man. But it was the middle of the three teens that held his attention. He knew that face. It was James Wilson. A younger, more awkward, slightly gangly version of the man but definitely James Wilson.

He looked back over at the dead beggar again and wondered how this had happened. How Wilson's brother could end up like this. Finally he looked over at the nurse.

"I'll go and talk to Dr Wilson," he said quietly. "Could you…take care of…him?"

He gestured towards the dead man and the nurse nodded soberly.

"Shall I tell the police?" she asked softly.

Chase hesitated then nodded. "Tell them I'll let Dr Wilson know they'd like to speak to him."

The nurse nodded again and Chase walked out of the ER. He quickly headed up to Wilson's office. When he realised the man wasn't there, he headed next door and found him in House's office. The two men were talking, bantering from the amused and relaxed expressions on their faces and Chase took a deep breath before knocking and opening the door.

"Dr Wilson?" he said as he walked in.

He saw House's eyebrow go up but his boss said nothing as Wilson looked over at him with mild surprise.

"Yes?" Wilson said, a hint of concern growing as he tried to anticipate what Chase wanted and obviously suspected it was something about one of his patients.

Chase hesitated for a moment then swallowed hard before saying, "I…a man was brought into the ER. He'd been savaged by a dog then hit by a car. Unfortunately we…we weren't able to save him. He…had _this_ in his wallet. I…he's the oldest."

He held out the tattered photograph and Wilson took it from him with a hand that was shaking just fractionally. Chase saw emotions swirl tumultuously in Wilson's eyes before he looked down at the photo. When he did, all the blood drained from his face and he whispered one word.

"David."

He then looked up at Chase, his face twisted with despair. "Are you sure?"

Chase looked down at his feet and nodded. "The eyes. The cheekbones. The jaw. There are changes but it's him."

Wilson made a small strangled noise and the photo fluttered down to the ground from his suddenly nerveless fingers. Chase gave a start when House hauled himself out of his chair and limped around the desk without his cane. The next thing he knew House had his arm in a painful grip and was hauling him ungracefully towards the door.

"Get out," House snapped. "Tell whoever's there…the nurses, cops, whatever…that we'll be there when we get there."

The next moment House had yanked the door open and Chase found himself propelled out into the corridor. He stumbled slightly then caught himself and looked back into the office. House hadn't bothered to close the curtains but instead had limped back over to Wilson and was now placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. As Chase watched Wilson shuddered and seemed to fold in on himself for a moment before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around House, burying his face into his chest.

Chase's eyes widened as House returned the embrace, one hand gently stroking Wilson's hair. Chase stared for a moment longer then he determinedly stepped forward, sneaking the door open and sliding into the room. He felt House's glare burn into his back but he resolutely ignored it as he quietly pulled the curtains closed. He then headed for the door again.

"Chase."

House's uncharacteristically quiet voice made him stop and he turned his head just enough to look at his boss. House didn't say anything else; he just nodded once, his eyes conveying his gratitude. Chase returned the nod then slipped out of the room. He turned towards the elevators, intending to go back down to the ER then he stopped. He thought for a moment then headed for the conference room. He'd call the nurse down in the ER, get _her_ to talk to the police. He was going to lurk out in the corridor. Cuddy might come looking for House…or Cameron or Foreman. Chase was going to make sure that the two men remained undisturbed.


	162. False

**022. False**

Whereabouts

Foreman came charging into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, a file in his hand and fervour in his attitude.

"Where's House?" he demanded.

Chase and Cameron looked up at him with surprise then glanced over their shoulders at the empty office behind them.

"Huh," Chase said with an air of bafflement. "One of these days I'm going to figure out how he sneaks around like he does."

"That's good," Foreman said with impatient irritation. "But where is he?"

"The clinic?" Cameron suggested.

Chase snorted with amusement. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well, it's possible," Cameron said with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah, true," Chase replied with a grin. "Just very, very improbable."

Cameron giggled at that as Foreman looked at them both with annoyance.

"He's not in the clinic. I've already tried there," he snapped.

"Dr Wilson's office?" Chase suggested idly as he looked back down at his crossword.

"Not there."

"The Obstetrics lounge?" Cameron suggested as she too turned back to what shed been doing before Foreman charged into the room; in her case, reading a medical journal.

"Not there," was Foreman's increasingly annoyed reply.

"Coma guy's room?" That came from Chase.

"No."

"The roof?" That was Cameron.

"No."

"Have you checked the balcony?" Cameron again.

"Yes. He's not there," Foreman snapped.

"With our patient?" Chase suggested with a frown. "You never know?"

"I checked. He's not there," Foreman replied.

"Ah well, it was a thought," Chase said with a shrug.

"One that fell into the very, very improbable basket," Cameron said with a quick, amused flick of a glance at Chase.

"True," Chase conceded.

"Are you two finished?" Foreman snapped with an angry glare.

"Hey, we're just trying to help," Chase protested with an innocent look.

Foreman didn't see that expression as he'd already turned away but Cameron caught it and she gave Chase a curious look. He returned it with an even more sincere innocent look and her curiosity turned to suspicion. She waited until Foreman had stormed out of the room then she fixed Chase with a gimlet eye.

"You're lying," she stated.

"Not a single thing I said was false," Chase protested though he seemed to be trying not to laugh.

"You know where he is," Cameron said flatly.

"I _think_ I know where he is," Chase countered. "It's not the same."

"It's close enough," Cameron said with exasperation. "Why didn't you tell Foreman?"

Chase paused for a moment and an odd smile curled his lips. "Um, because I think Dr Wilson's there with him."

"So?" Cameron said with a frown.

Chase's expression suddenly lost most of its amusement and became somewhat wary. "I…don't think they'd…appreciate being disturbed."

Cameron gave him a long, slightly confused look then comprehension dawned on her face, closely followed by disbelief.

"I'm…sure you're wrong," she said hesitantly.

"I'm sure I'm not," Chase replied with a modicum of sympathy.

Cameron opened her mouth to say something then shut it with a snap. She hesitated for a long moment then said tentatively, "I probably don't want to know anymore, do I?"

Chase smiled sympathetically. "No, probably not."

Cameron gave him another long look then nodded once before determinedly going back to her journal. Chase watched her for a moment longer then returned to his crossword.


	163. Happy

**023. Happy**

Happiness Is A Warm Gun

"And a glorious morning to you all on this disgustingly cheery day!" House almost bellowed as he limped into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room.

Chase, Cameron and Foreman all looked up with startled, deer-in-the-headlights expressions on their faces. They looked over at their boss and their eyes widened even further. House was wearing clothes that while no different from what he normally wore were clean, neat and _ironed_. His face was actually _clean-shaven_ and he was smiling brightly, his blue eyes alive with what looked like good humour.

The three young doctors turned and stared at each other as their jaws dropped then frowns appeared and they started surreptitiously looking around for hidden cameras or other indications that perhaps they'd fallen asleep and were dreaming.

House, for his part, poured himself a cup of coffee and headed for his office. He paused as he got to the door and gave them disapproving looks.

"Well, you're a grouchy bunch today," he observed before shaking his head, grinning some more and limping into his office.

Chase, Cameron and Foreman waited until the door had closed then looked at each other again.

"Alright, who _was_ that?" Chase said bluntly.

"Well, it _looked_ like House," Foreman said, sounding very nonplussed.

"He looks…_happy_," Cameron added, sounding baffled. "Cheerful."

"Yeah," Chase said, sounding as confused as the others. "And that's just…_weird_."

"Maybe he's been replaced with a pod person?" Foreman ventured.

"We're not in a movie," Cameron said with a roll of her eyes.

"Maybe Dr Wilson knows what's going on," Chase said dryly.

"Why?" Foreman asked then he saw that Chase was looking into House's office.

Foreman and Cameron turned to see Wilson walking into House's office with an expression on his face that was disturbingly similar to the one they'd seen on House. As they watched Wilson dropped down into the chair in front of the desk and he and House spoke for a moment then laughed uproariously. House leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and said something with a wicked look on his face that got another laugh out of Wilson. Wilson then said something that must have been equally wicked back because House's eyes twinkled as he laughed.

Wilson grinned as he got up and walked around to the other side of the desk. He leaned against it and reached out with one hand to caress House's cheek. House leaned into the caress and three jaws in the conference room dropped open.

"House…and _Wilson_?" Chase said in a voice that got rather squeaky by the end.

"Apparently," Foreman replied with admirable sangfroid.

"Oh," was all Cameron could manage, her voice weak and wispy.

"Well," Chase began, obviously trying to match Foreman's calm and failing miserably. "Happy is good, isn't it?"

"I have no idea," Foreman replied.

None of them had been able to tear their eyes away from the spectacle in the office and thus they were witness when Wilson leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to House's lips.

"I…think I'm due in the clinic," Cameron said in a strange, strained voice before she got up and hurried out of the room.

"I'm going to see what's going on in the ER," Chase said decisively. "It's gotta be easy to comprehend that _that_."

"Yeah," Foreman added as the two men got up. "I think Neurology's calling me."

With that they hurried out of the room.


	164. Cancer

**024. Cancer**

Spamalot

There were times when Wilson doubted his decision to go into Oncology. Days like today were a point in fact. He'd had five appointments today, all bad. The best result had been treatment and maybe she would live. Maybe. The rest…well, they'd try treatment but it probably wouldn't work. Each case was advanced, they probably only had months, maybe a year to live. He'd gone into medicine to heal people, not to tell them they were going to die no matter what they did. He hated days like this, the despair and helplessness ate away at him like the cancer he treated.

"Monty Python marathon."

Wilson looked up and saw that House was leaning against the low wall that separated their sections of the balcony.

"What?"

"Monty Python marathon," House repeated as he tapped his cane impatiently against the ground. "Tonight. Bring beer."

Wilson blinked. "What are they showing?" he said, feeling slightly dazed.

"Life of Brian, Meaning of Life, Holy Grail," House replied. "All the good stuff."

A small smile curled Wilson's lips. "It's just a flesh wound."

"What are you going to do, bleed on me?" House said with a grin.

Wilson laughed and felt the horrible helplessness start to slip away. "What time?"

"Seven," House replied then he gave Wilson a look of utter mischief.

"House…" Wilson said warningly.

House ignored him and with that wicked grin he limped back into his office. Wilson scrambled over the low wall and opened the door just in time to see House open the door into the corridor and limp out bellowing, "Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!"

Wilson walked into House's office and collapsed into his chair, laughing helplessly, something he could handle much better than his previous helplessness.


	165. Pickpocket

**025. Pickpocket**

Restart

Wilson didn't even notice that his wallet was gone until he got home. It was only when he reached into his back pocket to take the wallet out and toss it on the dresser in the bedroom that he realised. His first reaction was dismay and frustration at the truly obscene amount of time he was now going to have to spend cancelling credit cards etc and getting replacement then he suddenly groaned and leaned against the dresser, his shoulders slumping.

House birthday was next week and he'd gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to get ticket to House's favourite monster truck rally. And, since the rally was in Phoenix, he'd also organised plane tickets, hotel reservations and most importantly, time off for both of them. He'd been planning on picking up the plane tickets tomorrow but the rally tickets had arrived today. He'd tucked them into his wallet for safekeeping and now they were gone along with the rest.

His only saving grace right now was that House was still at the hospital dealing with the frustrations of his latest patient. He walked out into the living room and picked up the phone.

"Steve," he said urgently when the phone was answered at the other end. "It's James. I've got a problem…No, not that kind of problem…Not that kind either. Just listen. The tickets you sent. My wallet was stolen today. The tickets were in it…" He collapsed onto the couch with relief at the answer. "You can? Oh man, thanks, Steve…Yeah, a birthday present…Yeah, he's worth it…Well, I never really thought so myself but I guess what they say is right, when it's the right one it doesn't matter about gender…" He laughed. "Yeah, I'll try and restrain myself from singing show tunes…What?...Jesus, really? He'll have a coronary…Because I'm a doctor and we say things like coronary instead of heart attack…Yeah, right…Whatever…Thanks, Steve."

Wilson hung up the phone and let his head fall onto the back of the sofa. That got the most important thing out of the way; the tickets had been replaced and Steve had even offered better ones than he'd originally been able to get his hands on.

He looked down at the phone and sighed. He'd gone all out for this birthday even though he knew that House usually didn't like celebrating his birthday. It was the first one after the shooting and the failure of the ketamine treatment House had asked for. House had put on a good front but Wilson had seen his frustration and the despair at the result. Those feelings had lingered and had made dealing with House difficult at best. House's team had received the brunt of their boss' disappointment and had dealt with it with a patience and forbearance that had Wilson thinking of nominating them for collective sainthood. He was sure they probably bitched extensively in private but they didn't let House rile them too much in public and that's what counted.

This was going to his chance to attempt to jolly House into a better mood…or at least a mood closer to what it had been prior to the shooting. The flying probably wouldn't do it but he was fairly sure that the monster trucks would go along way towards helping. House always took an almost childish delight in watching them crunch their way over smaller cars and Wilson just liked watching House grin and laugh…and the whole crunching thing was kind of fun as well. He knew it wouldn't solve any problems but if it gave House a lift even for just a short period of time then Wilson was convinced it was a good thing.


	166. Reverse

**026. Reverse**

The Great Unknown

The ketamine worked. That was the first conclusion that House came to once the initial pain from the gunshot wounds began to fade. Prior to that the pain had been too generalised for him to determine how much, if any, was coming from his leg. But once it faded he was able to tell that for the first time since that day on the golf course, there was no pain.

It was just as well he was alone in his hospital room at that point. He probably would have freaked a few people out with the way he was grinning. Oh, he knew that he wouldn't be able to go running again tomorrow or really any time soon. The pain might be gone but missing muscle tissue doesn't regrow. He'll still limp, probably still need the cane, but there'll be no pain to govern his entire world. He can throw away the Vicodin…and thank anyone you care to thank that he'd spent two weeks in the ketamine-induced coma. Long enough to almost entirely detox without having to feel a damn thing.

It was going to change things; he knew that and wasn't entirely sure if he was looking forward to it or not. Cameron's reaction was going to be interesting. She was so convinced that if he could be _fixed_ he would be happy. Well, he was now as _fixed_ as he was ever going to get and she was going to get a very rude surprise. He'd always been a sarcastic bastard as she was soon going to find out. The infarction had _created_ his personality. Refined it maybe, but not created it. Come to think of it, Foreman and Chase were probably going to get as rude a shock as Cameron. He suspected that they half-believed Cameron's theory. That somehow the infarction and the pain were to blame for the way he acted.

Wilson and Cuddy would be the only ones not to be surprised when he barely changed once he was back on his feet. They knew what he was like before the pain and the cane. Cuddy, he suspected, would be relieved more than anything else. He knew she carried an enormous amount of guilt about what had happened. More than she really ought to. _He_ was the one that was stubborn; he was the one that refused amputation. He knew it was the sensible option but he just couldn't do it. It was hard enough looking down each day and seeing the scarring left from the surgery that had saved his life; he knew himself well enough that he couldn't have lived with looking down and not seeing a leg at all. But she had carried out the surgery without his consent or knowledge and her guilt stemmed from that because she knew he wouldn't have wanted it.

Of all of them Wilson was the unknown quantity. He knew his friend would be pleased, both about the lack of pain and the end of his addiction, but beyond that House had no idea how he was going to react. So much of the bulk of their friendship had been built on the foundation of his leg and his…unique way of dealing with it. With the leg largely out of the equation, their relationship would change. House had ideas of the direction he wanted to take it but whether Wilson would agree was part of the great unknown. It had held him back from suggesting the ketamine treatment and it consumed him now as he lay in his hospital bed, waiting for Wilson to get back from wherever it was he'd gone. He wasn't very good with unknowns; he liked answers and solutions. He just wondered if he'd like this one.


	167. Deliver

**027. Deliver**

More Food

Moving back into House's apartment felt strangely like coming home, something Wilson really didn't want to examine too much. He wasn't sure what it meant that his best friend's apartment was more like home than any house he'd shared with any of his wives but he was sure it wasn't good.

He let his bag drop to the floor behind the sofa and looked around with a small sigh. House had continued on and disappeared into the bedroom and Wilson decided that since he was once again imposing he might as well get things off to a good start and make dinner. He knew everything would deteriorate rapidly…and amusingly…though hopefully this time House would lay off the collegiate pranks. Or he might be forced to shortsheet the bed.

He wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Apart from some beer and leftover Chinese, it was empty. A quick survey of the cupboards revealed peanut butter, bread, some chips and not much else. He closed the door of the cupboard he was peering into and shook his head.

"Do you ever actually eat anything that isn't junk food?" he called out.

"Where's the fun in that?" House asked with a grin as he limped into the kitchen. "Grab some beer. I'll call for pizza."

Wilson rolled his eyes and headed for the fridge. "Thai," he said to House's back. "I feel like something spicy."

House turned and leered at him ridiculously. "I'll bet you do."

Wilson rolled his eyes and determinedly ignored the way his chest lurched as he had done a thousand times before. Maybe before the infarction he might have taken a chance, explored where things might go, but not now. He wouldn't risk alienating House and destroying the best friendship he'd ever had just because his dick happened to really like the man.

"Get spring rolls," he said, loading his voice with as much innuendo as he could.

He was rewarded by a filthy laugh from House then the sound of him ordering food. He paused in the doorway and watched House for a moment before turning towards the fridge to get the beer. When he walked out into the living room again, House was already sitting on the sofa. He handed one beer over and sat down beside him.

"Thirty minutes," House said as he channel flicked.

"Good," Wilson replied, getting himself a little more comfortable as they waited for the deliveryman. If he couldn't have what he wanted, he was happy to accept what he had.


	168. Arrival

**028. Arrival**

He's Right?

Wilson waited at the arrival gate and watched through the window as the plane pulled up to the terminal. House had been finagled into going to a conference in California by Cuddy to present a paper on one of his more interesting cases. He'd been calling nightly from Los Angeles, usually with a collection of scandalous stories about what his fellow doctors had been up to or what mistakes others had made in the cases they were presenting. But three nights ago House had changed; he'd called but he'd been sullen and taciturn, snarling sarcastic remarks and refusing to allow Wilson to jolly him into a better mood. The last couple of nights he'd been exactly the same and Wilson hadn't been entirely sure whether to be annoyed or worried.

He knew House's presentation had gone well; House had said so and he'd gotten a couple of emails from other doctors he knew who were at the conference to confirm that. When House had gone sullen on him, he'd contacted a couple of those doctors and asked a few discreet questions of them. The replies he'd received had increased his worry. They didn't really know much, just that House had had a…well, one termed it a heated discussion, the other doctor said it was an argument…with a colleague and that House had stormed off in a fury. The thing that worried him was that both friends said that the colleague House had been arguing with looked smugly superior when House walked away. Neither had heard what the argument was about and nor had anyone they knew. As far as they could tell, though the discussion had been heated, it had also been quiet.

Wilson pushed away from the window as the door to the jetway opened and the first passengers started to appear. House was one of them and Wilson inwardly groaned at the expression on the other man's face. House looked grim and sullen and that didn't bode well for anyone. And from the sharp, guarded look and the terse nod House was given by the flight attendant at the door, he'd obviously made everyone's life a living hell on the plane.

When House saw him his expression suddenly shifted and he looked something akin to a man who was taking the bull by the horns. Wilson watched with curiosity as House limped over to him, dropped his bag and grabbed his tie.

"House?" was all he had time to get out before House pulled him into a kiss.

Surprise kept him still at first then thoughts of _warm, good, House, yes, mine_ flooded through his mind and he wrapped a hand around the back of House's neck and returned the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily and out of the corner of his eye Wilson could see the other passengers eyeing them with various degrees of amusement, curiosity, disapproval and interest. He kept his attention on House and let the thumb of the hand that had ended up at House's waist gently caress the other man's side through his shirt.

House gave him a quirk of a smile. "Hey," he said, letting the questions be implied rather than said.

"You should argue with other doctors at conferences more often," Wilson offered speculative in return.

He was rewarded by the flash of remembered annoyance in House's eyes.

"You had sources," House complained.

Wilson leaned over and picked up House's bag before gently nudging him and getting them moving towards the exit.

"Of course I had sources," he said dryly. "I'll bet Cuddy does as well. You're a menace."

House gave him a shark-like grin. "Only when it's deserved."

"Yeah, right," Wilson said drolly. "Anyway, my sources told me about your…discussion. Do I want to know what it was about?"

"Do you care?"

Wilson considered that. "I'm not sure. I suppose it depends on why you kissed me."

"I wanted to," House said with a shrug. "It was my decision."

Wilson nodded. "Then I guess I don't care that much. Should I thank him?"

"No," House said with a scowl. "He's not right."

Wilson swallowed a grin. "Of course not," he said calmly.

House shot him a suspicious look then relaxed into a grin. "So do you want to know what else I can do after an argument?"

"Why not?" Wilson said mildly and walked out of the airport with House's whispered suggestive comments in his ear.


	169. Knife

**029. Knife**

That's Not A Knife

The knife had looked surprisingly small in the hands of strung out patient in the exam room in the clinic but now that it was lodged in his chest House thought it _felt_ remarkably large. He was lying on the floor of the exam room, one hand fluttering around the handle of the knife. The patient had run, scampering out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Moving didn't seem to be an option right now. Every time he tried he could feel the knife grind against his ribs and the pain was excruciating even to him. Not to mention the fact that he was fairly sure the knife was imbedded in his lung and moving might make things considerably worse than they already were.

The odd thing was he couldn't seem to gather enough strength or breath or something to shout for help. And no one seemed to have noticed that his patient had left in a hurry and he hadn't emerged. For the first time he actually had a few regrets about his usual habits in the clinic since it was entirely possible the nurses had just assumed he'd aggravated the patient enough to make him walk out and was now enjoying a relaxing time in the exam room.

He let his head roll slowly to one side and saw that his cane was within reach. He grabbed the handle with surprisingly numb fingers and raised the cane enough to bash it against the cupboards. He kept going even as his hand became increasingly numb and it got harder and harder to hold the cane and keep moving it. He could feel the blood soaking into his shirt and pooling underneath him and a frightening greyness was creeping around the edges of his vision.

Finally one of the nurses got annoyed enough by the banging to investigate it and she opened the door with an exasperated look on her face.

"What are you…?"

Her irritated question trailed off into a horrified gasp and House let the cane fall from his hand. His head lolled over in time to see the nurse lean out of the door and yell something before she hurried over and knelt down next to him. He let himself drift as she quickly assessed him then scrambled over to the cupboards. He couldn't find the strength to answer her questions, just stared at her mutely until blackness slowly claimed him.

He woke to the sounds of beeping and the rustle of clothing coming from somewhere nearby. He contemplated going to back to sleep but finally prised his eyes open. The first thing he saw was white ceiling then he became aware he was hooked up to more machines than he really cared to think about; the tiny pull of various needles and sensors making him wince. He didn't feel any pain, nothing but fuzzy goodness, so he assumed at least one of those needles terminated in an IV drip.

He looked over in the direction the rustling sound had been coming from and saw that Wilson was sitting in the chair next to his bed, reading through files and making an occasional notation. He looked tired and worn with a hint of stubble around his jaw. His tie was missing and his shirt was crumpled and creased.

"Hey," House said or at least tried to. Instead of the word, all he managed was a rusty croak.

Wilson jumped and stared at him wildly for a moment before slamming the file closed and dropping to the floor at his side. He lurched to his feet and reached out to the glass of water on the nearby table.

"Here, easy," Wilson murmured as he positioned the straw at House's mouth.

House took a few sips then waved the glass away…or tried to; his hands didn't seem to want to obey him right at that moment.

"Hey," he tried again. This time the word came out, hoarse and rough but it was there.

Wilson all but dropped the glass back on the table, his hands shaking. He swallowed hard several times before managing his own, "Hey."

"How bad?" House rasped.

Wilson drew in a shuddering breath. "Pretty bad. Punctured lung. You almost bled out."

"Mngh," House grunted, his eyes fluttering as he fought the sleep that was trying to claim him again.

"You're going to be fine," Wilson said, his voice a little shaky.

"Mmm," House murmured as he surrendered, feeling a warm hand caress his forehead and run through his hair as he fell asleep.


	170. Torn

**030. Torn**

(You Got Me Feeling) Torn To Shreds

House stared at the door, ignoring the curious looks from the three doctors in the conference room. Wilson had just laid it all down on the table and demanded a decision. For once, he had no idea what to do.

He'd never intended for it to go that far. Taking Wilson out to the new bar that had opened not far from his apartment had seemed like a very amusing idea. The bar wasn't _precisely_ a gay bar but it was certainly…open to all. Wilson had done a very nice spittake when he'd seen the two men kissing by the bar and the resulting conversation had been nicely replete with all the appropriate banter and innuendo that House had become accustomed to with Wilson. He still wasn't entirely sure how or why he'd thrown that challenge out onto the table nor was he entirely sure why Wilson had accepted it.

House had long ago come to terms with his…well, bisexuality possibly wasn't quite the word for it. He didn't really consider himself a three on the Kinsey scale since he generally preferred women. It was just that, on occasion, he wouldn't exactly kick the right man out of his bed either. So maybe that made him a two, maybe even a two and a half if there was such a thing. Of course he'd been fairly firmly convinced that Wilson had to be no higher than a one on the Kinsey scale though the fact that Wilson had picked up his challenge and had eyed him with amused daring made him suspect that his friend had managed to successfully hide something from him. Which he kind of liked since underestimating other people was annoying but underestimating Wilson was usually quite fun.

So there it had stayed for a moment. The challenge thrown out and unexpectedly accepted. And House was never one to back down from a challenge.

The kiss had been tentative at first. Neither was entirely sure of what they were doing. But after a few seconds something had flipped in House's brain that he had never known was there. Whether that was true ignorance or wilful avoidance he didn't know. Whatever the reason, it led him to turn the kiss from something softly exploratory to something hot and wet and demanding.

He'd expected Wilson to pull away at that point; to laugh and toss a few more innuendo-laden remarks on the table and everything would resume as normal in their slightly odd friendship. But he hadn't. He'd gone with it. In fact not only had Wilson gone with it, he'd reciprocated in a fashion that not even the densest person in the world could have misread. The kiss rapidly became the kind of thing that had you saying, "Bed. Now." when it was done.

When they'd finally broken apart they'd received a smattering of applause from the grinning men and women by the bar and Wilson had blushed. House hadn't been able to do anything more than stare at his friend and he'd suspected that the world was about to come crashing down on them. Because what do you say when you've just shared the best kiss in your entire life with your best friend? Particularly when that best friend was someone whom you'd always thought was straight. Particularly when that best friend was also your _only_ friend and screwing this up would be the worst thing that could ever happen to you and that was including the infarction.

So instead of saying anything, he'd stared at Wilson. For once, he wasn't going to be the first one to break the silence. Of course, the fact that he truly _didn't_ know what to say kind of helped with that. What do you say when you discover that you want your best friend?

Wilson had known what to say. And much to House's surprise he'd drained his drink and said, "Your place."

House remembered nodding dumbly and levering himself to his feet. He couldn't remember how they got back to his apartment but he _could_ remember what happened once they got there. There had been no awkwardness and apparently no second thoughts. He remembered what Wilson's skin felt like, tasted like. He remembered the noises Wilson had made and the ones that had been dragged out of him. He remembered what it felt like to be buried up to his balls in Wilson's warmth.

He also remembered what it felt like to wake up the next morning with Wilson curled around him. A few moments of deep contentment followed by confusion, fear and, on his part, a hasty retreat. He'd managed to avoid Wilson for three days. He didn't know what he wanted or what to think and he'd been hoping distance and time might sort that out. Wilson, it seemed, was no longer going to allow that sort of thing to happen. He'd stormed into his office half an hour ago and spoken his piece. House hadn't followed most of it but he'd gotten the salient points. Wilson wanted this, whatever it was that had suddenly grown between them, but he wasn't going to push. He wanted House to want it as well. And he was leaving the ball in House's court.

House wasn't stupid. He knew if he refused that their friendship would probably survive but it would be a frail mockery of what it had been before. He didn't want that but he wasn't sure if he wanted what Wilson was offering. He wasn't stupid. He knew why he was torn. He was afraid. The last time he'd had something like this it hadn't ended well. Between Stacy's betrayal and his own recalcitrance, it had been rather spectacularly destroyed. He didn't want that to happen to him and Wilson. Except that it looked like that might happen if he said no. And if he said yes it might not happen at all.

He took risks everyday. Sometimes small risks, sometimes large ones. But they were calculated risks. They had logic and reasoning behind them. This risk was purely emotional. There was nothing backing it up, no safety net. He hated those kinds of risks.

House stared out the door into the corridor then slowly got to his feet. He clenched his hand around the handle of his cane and slowly limped towards the door. He had to give Wilson an answer.


	171. Danger

**031. Danger**

Negotiations

Between his riding of a motorbike with a bad leg, his constant provocation of patients, patients' families and colleagues and his mixing of Vicodin and alcohol, Wilson often wondered whether House possessed any sense of danger or self-preservation at all. Sometimes he even wondered whether House had some kind of death wish. Watching him walk into the room of a patient displaying signs of some kind of drug-induced psychosis did absolutely nothing to dispel any of those thoughts.

Wilson watched through the glass, House's team flanking him, as House leaned on his cane and scowled at the young man, his mouth moving and no doubt saying something scathing. Wilson winced and heard Cameron gasp as the patient lunged at House with the scalpel he'd earlier ripped out of Chase's hand. House didn't move however and the patient veered away from him before he made contact, ending up near the wall, shouting and gesticulating.

"Where the hell is security?" Foreman muttered, mostly to himself.

"They're on their way," Chase replied, cradling his right hand in his left. The scalpel had left a deep gash at the base of his thumb when it had been ripped out of his hand. He'd wrapped the handkerchief Cameron had given him tightly around it but refused to get any further treatment. The handkerchief was stained red where the gash was but since Chase didn't seem to be in too much distress, Wilson didn't insist he leave.

Inside the room, the young man darted around, almost ricocheting off the bed and the walls, all the time circling House. He brandished the scalpel several times but seemed almost cowed by House. Through all of this, House remained where he was, leaning on his cane and directing what, by his expression, could only be increasingly sardonic questions at the young man.

The sound of running footsteps drew Wilson's attention away from the spectacle inside the room and he saw three security guards running towards them. He glanced back just in time to see the young man throw the scalpel at the wall then collapse in a heap at House's feet.

"Dr Wilson," one of the guards began but stopped when Wilson held on hand up.

"Hang on," Wilson said, watching as House directed a sympathetic, if somewhat exasperated, look at the young man on the floor.

House then prodded the young man with his cane and said something. They watched as the young man slowly uncurled and staggered back to the bed, crawling in under the blankets and curling up with his back to the corridor. House watched him with that same expression of sympathy and exasperation then turned and limped over to the scalpel, bracing himself on his cane and picking it up.

He then limped over to the door and opened it a little awkwardly with the scalpel in his hand. He slid the door closed behind him and held the scalpel out to Foreman, who took it with a rather nonplussed look on his face.

"He'll behave," House said brusquely to his team. "Get back in there and treat him. Except for you, wombat boy. You get to go and critique your colleagues in the ER."

With that House limped back down the corridor towards his office. Wilson watched him go for a moment then spared a glance for the now-docile young man. He still thought House put himself into far too much danger but he couldn't argue with the results.


	172. Neutral

**032. Neutral**

Not High

House knew that everyone thought that the Vicodin made him high, that that was the reason he was addicted. That he wanted to get high to stop the misery of the pain. They were wrong, of course, but he knew he'd never convince them of that. They didn't live his life, the lucky bastards; they couldn't know what it was like.

He didn't take drugs to get high. He just _wished_ he took drugs to get high.

He took drugs to achieve something that might be termed neutral. He took drugs to attempt to get himself to the point where other people lived everyday. Didn't work very well since the pain was always there but at least with the drugs he could function well enough to get by.


	173. Mate

**033. Mate**

Vernacular

House liked teasing Chase about the occasional pieces of Australian vernacular that lipped into his speech from time to time. Mostly it was just pronunciation but often Chase would throw in a word or two that would just invite mockery. And sometimes House knew Chase threw in a word or two that he _knew_ would invite mockery just to watch the reactions of his team mates and House himself.

The day he'd tossed out the description of his trip to the beach as a kid where he'd worn thongs was one of House's favourite memories. The gaping faces of Foreman and Cameron had looked particularly gormless, not to mention stunned. And House had been able to tease Chase incessantly about what kind of thongs he'd worn – lace or satin. Chase had protested and blushed and back-pedalled with an adeptness that House had thoroughly approved of, particularly considering that House was almost entirely certain Chase had used the word deliberately knowing that he would know what was really meant while Foreman and Cameron didn't.

Of course, sometimes the whole word thing went the other way and again House was often convinced that Chase knew what the word meant to an American audience, he was just having a little fun. The word root had led to one of those circumstances. Chase had struggled to contain a fit of the giggles when a patient told them that she'd been at the football rooting for her team when the symptoms had started. When Foreman had confronted Chase about it later, Chase had rather gleefully told them what the word meant to an Australian. House had then had the opportunity to mock all his ducklings when Chase laughed, Cameron blushed and Foreman looked startled.

But today Chase had used another word that had House watching him with narrowed eyes, unsure of what the young Australian had meant by it. Chase had, with a glint in his eyes that House didn't quite trust, called Wilson his 'mate'. House knew the meaning Australians attached to the word but he also knew Chase well enough to be able to know when the younger man was yanking his chain. And he was firmly convinced this was one of those times. That look in Chase's eyes was amused, knowing and mischievous.

It made him wonder what exactly it was that Chase knew. And what meaning he was ascribing to the word 'mate'.


	174. Fly

**This is another one that gets a warning for smutty mcsmut! grins Enjoy!**

**034. Fly**

Flying Lessons

House hated to fly. It wasn't so much the pain in his leg caused by the pressure differentials as the plane ascended and descended as the sheer and utter boredom of being stuck in a large metal tube with so many idiots and being completely unable to get away from them. He combated the boredom as best as he could with journals, books, his iPod and Gameboy but on a long trip even the amusement generated by those things palled. Even verbally poking at whomever he was travelling with got boring after a while.

But Wilson had just come up with _best_ boredom beater ever.

They were crammed into one of the plane's lavatories which was quite the feat considering there was barely enough room in there for one grown man, let alone two. They were pressed against each other with House's back against the one free wall in the place. Wilson was currently sucking on his earlobe, sending shivers down his spine, and unzipping his jeans. House wasn't really able to do much more then clench his fists in Wilson's shirt and try not to make too much noise.

"Mile high club," he gasped as Wilson grazed his teeth over the skin below his ear. "Best idea ever."

"Thought you'd like it," Wilson murmured against his neck.

House's reply was lost in the sudden moan that was dragged out of his throat when Wilson wrapped his hand around his cock.

"For god's sake, be quiet," Wilson hissed urgently. "We don't want to get caught."

"I'm sure they already know we're in here and what we're doing," House gasped as he tried not to thrust into Wilson's hand.

"Yeah but there is such a thing as plausible deniability which doesn't work if you're screaming my name," Wilson replied as he glanced around quickly then, with a grace and agility House could only admire, dropped to his knees in the tight space.

House scowled as he slid his hands into Wilson's soft hair. "I don't scream."

Wilson gave him an amused look. "Of course you don't," he said before he all but swallowed House's dick.

House's head hit the wall with a loud thunk and he gritted his teeth in a mostly successful attempt to keep in the sound that definitely _wasn't_ a scream. As it was, the strangled, slightly muted noise that did emerge made Wilson hum his approval and amusement.

"Wasn't a scream," House gasped as Wilson started moving slowly back and forth, the wet, sucking noises of his actions sounding obscenely hot in the small space.

Wilson hummed again and House's hips jerked forward. He felt one of Wilson's hands come to rest on his hip, pressing him back into the wall and steadying him. He looked down and saw that Wilson's other hand was busy on his own dick and his head fell back against the wall with a low groan and another thunk. He was in the middle of trying to come up with something to hold off his orgasm for just a _little_ bit longer when Wilson did that thing with his tongue that he'd never been able to reproduce and it all become a moot point. He came hot and hard in Wilson's mouth, gasping as his lover swallowed around him.

He barely noticed when Wilson rather awkwardly got to his feet and cleaned off his hand but he did notice when Wilson pulled him forward into a kiss. He could taste himself in Wilson's mouth and he clutched convulsively at his lover. When they finally separated, he smiled languidly at Wilson and let one hand slide down his chest.

Wilson caught his hand with a charming blush and shook his head. "I, uh…already…"

House smiled quirked into something both smug and amused. "From that?"

Wilson's blush deepened. "Yeah."

"Cool," House replied, settling on smug.

Wilson rolled his eyes and tidied them both up.

"Of course, you've got one more question answer," House said musingly though there was a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"What's that?" Wilson said patiently.

"How are we going to get out of here without everyone knowing what we've been doing?" House said with a grin.


	175. Loud

**035. Loud**

In The Heat Of The Night

People at the hospital had many opinions about House and Wilson but one of the major ones was that House was loud and Wilson was quiet. House was always arguing with anybody who crossed his path, yelling at patient's families, berating his team, demanding things from Cuddy and bantering with Wilson. On the other hand, Wilson was polite to his patients and their families, he was charming with nearly everyone and was considerate of others and for some reason he chose to spend a great deal of time with House making quiet quips in reply to other man's loud comments.

No one would have believed that in bed at night House was nearly silent. His harsh panting breaths and near silent moans as he arched into Wilson's touch were the only noise he made. His demands were made in subtle movements and the look in his eyes and Wilson knew how to read them the way others knew how to read hieroglyphics. House's silence during sex spoke louder than any words he might have uttered because it gave the clearest indication that House wasn't thinking of _anything_ other than what they were doing. His mind was focused on what he was doing and Wilson loved nothing more than to be the sole focus of House's extraordinary mind.

Nor would they have believed that Wilson was loud. And not just loud. He was demanding, issuing orders and insistent commands. He was almost coarse; filthy, lewd words spilling from his perfect mouth in encouragement and praise. He moaned and cursed and even screamed when House did things right. And House _loved_ it; he loved seeing the oh-so-perfect Boy Wonder become completely unravelled. He loved seeing the almost anally neat Dr Wilson looking mussed, debauched and thoroughly sated. He loved that he was responsible for it and no one else.

They let everyone have their opinions. They didn't care what others thought about them. They knew the truth.


	176. Seek

**This is a sequel to Hot

* * *

****036. Seek**

Housius Interruptus

Wilson was rapidly coming to the conclusion that House was damned elusive for a crippled man. Admittedly the crowded ballroom was helping House's cause but that surely couldn't be the only reason he couldn't find the man. He kept catching glimpses of the man through the crowd but every time he got to where he'd seen House, the man was gone. And now he was starting to think it was deliberate. The last time he'd caught sight of House, the man had looked up from the woman he was speaking to and had met his eyes for just a moment. The sparkle of mischief and challenge had been unmistakable and Wilson had grinned momentarily in response before the crowd had shifted again and House had disappeared.

Wilson suddenly found himself next to the woman House had been speaking with and she beamed up at him.

"Oh, you must be Dr House's friend, Dr Wilson," she said, her voice bubbling with amusement. "He said you might turn up."

Wilson gave her a charming smile. "I'm sure he did," he said wryly. "I don't suppose you know where he went. I've been trying to find him all evening."

The woman blushed at the smile and laughed. "He said you'd ask. He said I should tell you that you'd know where to find him."

Wilson sighed and laughed ruefully. "I hate it when he gets into one of these moods."

The woman laughed again. "He looked like my sons when they're up to mischief. I suggest you find him before he gets the two of you into trouble."

Wilson had to laugh at that. "Thank you. I will."

He smiled again at the woman and weaved his way through the crowd. _Well, at least House hadn't made this challenge too hard_, he thought as he pushed open the door that led to the rest of the hospital and sidled through, hoping that Cuddy hadn't seen him escaping. Once he was out into the hospital he paused to consider where House might be. He didn't think House would be in the empty clinic since that _not_ where Wilson usually expected to find him so he decided that one of their offices might be the best place to start.

When he got their, his own office was empty but a quick glance out the door to the balcony revealed House leaning against the balustrade on his own side of the low wall, looking out over the lights of the city. Wilson pushed the door open and walked out, climbing over the wall and joining his friend.

"Found you," he said quietly.

"Well, I did give you a big hint," House replied, not looking at him.

Wilson chuckled. "That woman said you reminded her of her sons when they were about to get into trouble," he said, taking the opportunity to admire House's lean form in his tuxedo and to stare at his clean-shaven face.

"Yeah, she said that to me," House said with a quirk of a smile and he turned to look at Wilson. He snorted with amusement. "You're leering."

Wilson grinned in reply. "It's been a while since I've seen you like this."

House frowned. "I wore the tux for that casino night."

"But you weren't clean shaven," Wilson replied before he could think better of it.

House cocked one eyebrow at him and rubbed his smooth cheek reflectively. "Like this, huh?"

Wilson shrugged. "It's getting harder and harder to explain the beard burn."

House smirked. "You love the beard burn. You weren't complaining last night after all."

Wilson blushed as he remembered what House had done. "That's…not the point," he protested weakly.

House snickered and grabbed the front of Wilson's tuxedo, pulling his lover in closer. Wilson moaned as he felt House's erection press against his thigh and his own dick hardened in response. He rested his forehead on House's shoulder as he struggled to get himself under control.

"House, we can't do this," he said warningly.

"Why not?" House asked as he ran his hands down Wilson's back and cupped his arse.

Wilson moaned again and his hips pressed forward a bit more. "Because if Cuddy figures out we're both missing she's going to come looking for us," he said desperately. "And I'm not sure who'd be more embarrassed if that happened."

"Not me," House replied tightly, shifting Wilson around to a better angle and moving his own hips.

"I know," Wilson gasped before, with a last ditch effort, he grabbed House's hands and pulled them away from his arse and stepping back a fraction.

He nearly gave in at the small whine that escaped from House but instead he let go of House's hands and planted his own on House's chest, keeping them separated.

"Not here," he said firmly, nearly giving in again at the heated, intense look on House's face.

House ran one hand down Wilson's chest and cupped his dick. "Someone disagrees with you," he said with a smirk.

"I try not to think with my dick at the hospital," Wilson replied, struggling not to move as the heat from House's hand bleed through his pants.

House snorted at that and Wilson rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he said with exasperation, stepping back further and getting out of House's reach.

"Dr House, I believe I requested that you _stay_ in the ballroom," came Cuddy's irritated voice from House's office, startling them both.

Wilson quickly stepped further into the shadows to hide the obvious bulge in his pants and he saw House grab his cane and place it in front of himself, leaning on it slightly.

"Needed a break," House replied nonchalantly as he eyed Cuddy carefully.

Cuddy scowled and turned to Wilson. "And will you _please_ stop encouraging him to run away," she snapped.

"Uh," Wilson said, unable to think of anything to say with a large portion of his blood supply not running through his brain. Thankfully Cuddy didn't seem to want an answer from him.

"I want both of you back there _now_," she said, one hand on her hip and the other pointing towards the inside of the hospital.

"Do I have to?" House whined with a wicked look in his eyes that made Wilson smother a snicker.

Cuddy glared at him. "Inside," she demanded. "And stop making me feel like your mother."

House smirked at that the reluctantly limped towards the door. Wilson sidled around Cuddy and joined him with Cuddy following them in.

"Now get back down there," Cuddy demanded once they were in the corridor. "I need to go and round up some more damn truants."

She stalked off down the corridor and Wilson gave his lover a nudge.

"Come on, before she really does kill us," he said.

House nodded and waited until they were inside the lift before limping forward and crowding Wilson against the wall.

"You stopped," he said in a low growl.

"Just as well I did," Wilson replied with a swallow.

"But you stopped," House repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I didn't want to stop. Just for that, you're going to have to pay."

House suddenly stepped away as the lift pinged and the doors opened. He limped out without a backwards look and headed towards the ballroom. Wilson leaned against the wall a little shakily, suddenly very, very hard again. This was going to be a _very_ long night.


	177. Argue

**037. Argue**

Spectator Sport

Chase looked up from his crossword and winced. "Damn! They're at it again."

Foreman and Cameron looked up from their respective diversions and turned to look into House's office.

"That's the fifth time in three days," Foreman said sourly. "All House and Wilson seem to do these days is argue."

"I wonder what's wrong," Cameron mused.

"You would," Foreman said bluntly.

"I'm with Cameron," Chase said. "Because House's mood has been getting worse and worse with every argument. Maybe you don't mind him snarling at you but I'm getting a bit sick of it."

"What, you think that if we know what's wrong we can fix it?" Foreman said incredulously. "You're insane. House doesn't like people poking around in his private life at the best of times, what makes you think he'd appreciate it right now?"

They winced as House slammed his cane down on his desk and shouted something at Wilson. In return Wilson's expression became almost mulish and he crossed his arms across his chest, saying something extremely blunt from the scowl that grew on House's face. Their eyes widened when House yanked his bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and pegged it at Wilson's head. Wilson jerked his head out of the line of fire and caught the bottle awkwardly. He stared down at it, showing the first signs of indecision, and a quick glance at House showed that he was sitting in his chair with the most forbidding expression any of them had ever seen on his face.

Chase drew in a hissing breath and winced. "Oh, man, Wilson. Don't open it. Don't count 'em."

"Why shouldn't he?" Foreman asked almost reluctantly. He seemed fascinated by the scene being played out silently in front of them in spite of himself.

"Because I've seen that look on House's face before," Chase replied. "That's his deal breaker face. If Wilson opens that bottle, I can't see House letting him back in again."

It seemed that Wilson knew this as well because his shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. One hand came up to rub the back of his neck and he tossed the bottle back with the other. He said something, his expression weary and defeated and turned towards the door. Before he could open it, House sat up and said something, his expression a mix of exasperation, defensiveness and a hint of desperation.

Wilson turned, his body language and expression still that of a man defeated. House said something, his expression oddly pleading and then he scowled and looked away. Wilson ran a hand down his face and said a single word with a somewhat rueful smile. As the trio of doctors watched, House turned around and returned the smile then he got to his feet and limped around the desk without using his cane. Wilson walked back to the desk, a look of fond exasperation on his face and then he gently caressed House's face.

"What?" Chase choked out. "Did I actually see…?"

"Oh yeah, you saw," Foreman said, his eyes wide.

As they watched House's smile became broader and more genuinely affectionate and both Chase and Foreman were kind enough to not look over at Cameron who had just made a tiny sound something akin to a whimper. Instead they watched House wrap a hand around Wilson's tie and pull him into a brief kiss. Wilson pulled away, flushed and laughing self-consciously, and he shot a glance into the conference room, his eyes widening and his blush deepening when he saw that they had an avid audience. House followed his gaze and smirked smugly before turning back to laugh at Wilson.

Wilson shook his head, still smiling and blushing furiously then he walked over to the door. He paused with one hand on the doorknob and asked something that was clearly a question. House responded with a smile, a comment and a lazy wave of one hand. Wilson rolled his eyes and headed out to his office. House watched him go then looked over at the conference room and gave his team a bland look before returning to his own chair and picking up his Gameboy.

"You know…that could have an elaborate charade put on for our benefit," Chase offered expectantly.

Foreman didn't disappoint; he snorted and said derisively. "Yeah, sure. Why would they do that?"

"Because House loves screwing with our minds," Chase replied.

Foreman considered that then snorted, this time with amusement. "You have a point."

"It looked pretty genuine to me," Cameron said in a brittle voice.


	178. Work

**038. Work**

Missing the Pieces

Wilson had never really considered himself a workaholic but he _did_ take his work seriously. Cancer sort of demanded a certain amount of focus and dedication, at least from those who lasted for any length of time in the demanding and heart wrenching field, but Wilson had always felt that he had learnt how to keep things separate and keep enough time to relax and unwind, usually in the company of House.

But as he looked at the unconscious form of his friend through the window of the isolation room he wondered what the hell had happened.

It was true that they'd had an unusually large influx of patients after the closure of a hospital across town that had led to _all_ of the doctors in the Oncology Department, not just himself, working long hours to sort everything out. It was also true that time he'd also had two conferences he'd had to attend within two weeks of each other that had eaten up a lot of time beforehand in the preparation of his presentations as well as the time he'd been away. But as far as he was concerned that was no excuse for ignoring what _must_ have been in front of him the whole time.

How had he not noticed that House was ill? How had he not noticed that his friend was quieter, less argumentative and less of a pain in the arse? How had he not noticed that House wasn't eating properly? Drinking more? Taking more pills? How had he ignored the symptoms that _must_ have been right in front of him?

"He will be alright," Cuddy said from behind him. She sounded certain.

"Yes," Wilson replied but it was mostly an automatic response.

"James," Cuddy said firmly. "He _will_ be alright."

"How can you be so sure?" Wilson retorted. "It was caught late. His respiratory system, gastrointestinal system _and_ his renal system are all involved. And just how the _hell_ did he catch Rocky Mountain spotted fever anyway? Isn't it spread by ticks?"

Cuddy came up beside him at the window and nodded. "Cameron checked that rat of his but it was clean. She also didn't find any trace of ticks in your apartment."

"You sent _Cameron_ to our apartment?" Wilson said with an incredulous look.

"She was the only one available," Cuddy replied. "It was Foreman's day off and Chase was busy taking care of House."

Wilson grimaced and nodded and hoped like hell there hadn't been anything _too_ incriminating in the apartment, especially the bedroom. Unfortunately neither he nor House tended to be careful since nobody other than him ever really came round to House's place and he was fairly sure there was more of his stuff in the bedroom than could be easily explained.

"It's not your fault," Cuddy said, proving that she had a fine understanding of the people that worked for her.

"I should have noticed," Wilson said in a voice full of self-recrimination. "I can't believe I got so wrapped up in _work_ and failed to notice when my own _lover_ got sick."

"He's very good at hiding things," Cuddy said soothingly. She was well aware of the relationship between the two men having walked in on them several times in the last couple of weeks, much to her combined exasperation and amusement. "What I'd like to know is how you managed to avoid catching it from him?"

Wilson grimaced. "I've been sleeping in my office or on the sofa a lot in the last couple of weeks. He hasn't been sleeping well and I didn't want to risk waking him." He shook his head. "I should have known. House can have trouble _getting_ to sleep but once he's asleep he's hard to wake. I should have known when he kept waking up so easily."

"James, stop beating yourself up," Cuddy said firmly. "It wasn't your fault. And he _will_ be fine."

Wilson drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding absently. He knew that, House was strong and almost insanely stubborn. He'd get better. He was sure of it.


	179. Sink

**039. Sink**

The Domestic Male

Wilson walked into House's apartment and let his bag drop to the floor with a sigh of relief. He pulled off his coat and hung it up then walked into the living room, pulling off his suit jacket and tie as he did. He was mildly surprised to find that House wasn't there, slumped on the sofa and watching television, and even more surprised when he heard a low slushing sound followed by clinking from the kitchen. He took his tie off and tossed it over the back with his suit jacket then rolled up his sleeves as he headed into the kitchen.

He came to a sudden, surprised halt as he walked in. House was standing at the sink, washing the last three days worth of dishes that Wilson had been gritting his teeth and leaving. House's cane was propped against the bench beside him and he was humming something vaguely familiar under his breath. A slow smile grew on Wilson's face as he leaned against the doorway and watched this surprising bout of domesticity from House.

"Is the world ending?" he asked innocently.

House gave a start and glanced over his shoulder with a scowl. "You need a bell."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "That'd start some interesting rumours."

House snickered and flicked some water at him. "What? More interesting than the ones currently doing the rounds?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Those ones are _your_ fault. I _told_ you not to leave visible marks."

"When have I ever listened to you?" House said with a smirk.

"Professionally, sometimes, personally, hardly ever," Wilson conceded then he grinned wickedly. "Have I ever told that I find people doing household chores unbelievably sexy?"

House shot him a glance that was a mix of amused and very, very interested. "You need to get out more if that's what you find sexy."

Wilson pushed himself off the doorway and walked over to House, not stopping until he was pressed up against his lover's back. He ran his hands down House's arms until he was able to entwine their fingers together in the warm, soapy water.

"Domesticity in the feral male is unbelievably hot," he murmured into House's ear then he licked the rim.

House's breath hitched and he leaned back a fraction. "That so?" he said, managing to maintain an admirable level of casualness that entirely belied the fact that Wilson was sucking on his earlobe. "Guess I'd better keep my forays into the world of chores sporadic then. Wouldn't want to get too domesticated and lose the thrill."

Wilson pressed his growing erection into House's arse and let go of his earlobe. "Wouldn't want that," he murmured before starting a series of nipping kisses on House's neck.

House let out a low rumbling moan and tilted his head to allow Wilson better access. The moan turned into a whimper when Wilson suddenly pulled away.

"Finish those and we'll see what kind of treat I can come up with," Wilson said in a voice full of promise.

He gave House one last heated look before walking out of the kitchen. House watched him go then slumped against the sink, pressing his own erection into the cupboards as he grinned wildly. As soon as he'd gained a little more control he turned back to the dishes. He didn't have many left and he had a _treat_ waiting for him.


	180. Nut

**040. Nut**

Last To Know

"He's allergic to _nuts_?" Wilson said incredulously.

He was standing in the corridor outside the hospital room House currently inhabited. House was asleep, exhausted by the anaphylaxis and the subsequent epinephrine and fuss. Wilson was standing in the corridor staring at Cuddy, who was nodding wearily, with stunned incomprehension.

"Chestnuts to be precise," she said absently, looking down at the file she was carrying. "Well, the family of nuts that includes chestnuts."

"Since when?" Wilson demanded, his voice a little ragged.

That edge to Wilson's voice got Cuddy's attention and she looked up from the file in surprise.

"You didn't know?"

"No!" Wilson said in a half-shout.

"Oh," Cuddy said, sounding rather nonplussed. "I thought…"

Wilson stared at her for a long moment then turned on his heel and stalked back into the room. He sat down in the chair beside the bed with a thump, feeling stunned and slightly lost.

"Hey," House said in a hoarse voice, startling Wilson.

"Hey," Wilson replied, feeling fractured and unsure. He looked up and saw that House was awake, his eyes half-open and watching him lazily.

A silence fell in the room and Wilson had no idea how to break it. Finally House did.

"Water?"

"Oh, yes," Wilson said, moving jerkily to grab the glass on the bedside table. He helped House take several sips of water then put the glass back and returned to his seat, fidgeting with his lab coat and trying not to feel hurt.

He knew he'd failed miserably on that last score when House snapped, "What? You're moping and giving me sad little hurt looks."

Wilson opened and closed his mouth a couple of times then blurted out, "You're allergic to nuts."

"You noticed?" House said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "What gave it away? The whole unable to breathe thing? You know everyone always says blue is my colour but I guess that doesn't count when it's my face."

"I didn't know," Wilson said suddenly, tensing and unable to stop the hurt look this time.

House gave him a long look then understanding washed over his face.

"Ah," he said finally.

"Ah? _That's_ all you've got to say?" Wilson demanded, leaping to his feet and pacing the room wildly. "You're allergic to _nuts_ and you never told me? I…_why?_"

The last was said rather plaintively and was accompanied by Wilson almost falling back down into the chair.

"It wasn't important," House said with exasperation. "I avoid chestnuts and I usually don't have such an extreme reaction anyway. It's _usually_ only a mild allergy." He paused and looked thoughtful. "Then again, I guess that's the first time since I found out that I was allergic that I've eaten a whole chestnut and I accidentally had more than one. I suppose it was bound to trigger an acute reaction."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson asked. He felt like he was stuck on that point and couldn't seem to shake himself loose. It was only a matter of time before House got truly irritated with him.

"Because it's not a problem," House snapped. "I was tired and not paying attention and I didn't check. It's the first time it's happened in years and it won't happen again."

Wilson opened his mouth then closed it with a snap. When he opened it again, something came out that he hadn't intended.

"You scared me."

House looked startled then his eyes narrowed in a calculating manner as he stared at Wilson. Wilson shifted uncomfortably under the regard and had a moment to wonder exactly what it was he was revealing. Suddenly the calculating expression disappeared from House's face and was replaced by one of smug amusement and equally smug satisfaction.

"Come here," he said imperiously, patting the edge of the bed.

"Um, why?" Wilson said warily as he stayed right where he was.

"Wilson. Come. Here," House said, enunciating each word clearly and hoisting himself into a more upright position.

Wilson slowly got up and gingerly sat down in the bed where House's had been patting.

"Good boy," House said with amusement then he reached out and grabbed Wilson's tie, yanking him into a kiss.

Wilson made a muffled protest then lost all will to complain when House's tongue licked his bottom lip then plunged inside his mouth. His half-hearted protest turned into a moan and he leaned into the kiss, letting House thoroughly explore his mouth then returning the favour at House's encouragement. One of his hands was curled around House's neck while the other was resting against House's chest where he could feel the other man's heart beating rapidly. They finally separated when both were breathless and Wilson stared at House with questioning eyes.

"Your timing sucks," House said with a self-satisfied grin.

Wilson blinked. "What?" he said with surprise as he snatched his hands back nervously.

"I'm stuck in here overnight and _this_ is the time to choose to tell me you've been pining over me?" House said with mock-indignation. "You could have done this earlier when we could have used my perfectly comfortable bed to have lots of obscenely good sex."

Wilson's mouth open and closed a few times then he finally had to chuckle.

"Yes, I can see this is all my fault," he said dryly.

"I'm glad you realise that," House said with a grin.

Wilson grinned back and placed one hand on House's thigh. "I guess you've got something to look forward to then."

House settled back with a smug smirk and reached out and entwined his fingers with Wilson's. "Guess we both do."


	181. Stuck

**041. Stuck**

The Coming Storm

"Well, isn't this the biggest goddamn cliché?" House said with disgust as he poked the lift buttons with his cane.

"House, leave it alone," Wilson said wearily from where he was sitting with his back against the rear wall of the lift. "We're stuck. Pushing the buttons isn't going to do anything. They'll get us out as soon as possible."

"Define as soon as possible," House asked sourly as he continued prodding at the buttons.

"The guy said it'd probably be a couple of hours," Wilson said patiently. "House, stop poking at the buttons and come sit down. They're working as fast as they can."

House stopped poking the buttons but he didn't move. "Couple of hours," he said in an odd tone.

"Yeah," Wilson replied. "A couple of hours, at least."

"That's…going to be a problem," House replied.

"Why?"

House pulled a small orange bottle out of his pocket and tossed it at Wilson. It didn't make a sound when the younger man caught it.

"Because I picked up the wrong bottle."

Wilson looked down at the empty bottle in his hands then back up at House.

"How long since your last?" he asked carefully.

"Couple of hours," House replied in a neutral voice.

Wilson winced and put the bottle down on the floor. "Come and sit down. It'll be better if you stay off your leg."

House scowled at the unresponsive buttons then limped over to where Wilson was sitting and slowly, awkwardly lowered himself to the floor. Once he was sitting he started tapping the end of his cane on the floor in agitation. Wilson sighed and placed one hand on House's thigh.

"You'll be fine," he said calmly.

House glared at him briefly. "I would have been fine if you and Cuddy hadn't thought up that little detox trick. _Now_ I _know_ what's going to happen."

Wilson's eyes widened momentarily. "You knew?" he asked tentatively.

House scowled. "Of course I knew. Cuddy wouldn't have the balls to come up with that idea on her own."

"Then…_why_?" Wilson asked, not sure exactly what answer he was looking for.

He was surprised when House gave him a look of mixed irritation, exasperation and affection.

"Because I thought you were wrong," he admitted ruefully. "Intellectually I was half-convinced you were right but I still thought you were wrong. If that makes any sense."

"Sort of," Wilson replied, feeling a little stunned.

"In the end it wasn't the withdrawal that was the problem," House continued thoughtfully, staring at the closed doors of the lift. His cane-tapping had stopped and one hand was resting on his thigh bare millimetres from Wilson's. "It was the pain. Taking away the pills meant that the pain was…there. All the time. No relief."

Wilson was silent; it was rare for House to get in one of his more candid moods and since this candid mood seemed to coincide with answers Wilson had so desperately wanted, he wasn't willing to rock the boat. All he did was slide his hand forward so that his fingers were resting on top of House's. The other man's hand twitched underneath his then stilled, accepting the touch.

"Had to find ways of thinking around the pain," House mused. "The gating mechanism the body has was the first that came to mind and it did work, just didn't last long enough. That and the pain wasn't quite enough after the first rush to overcome the leg." He turned his head and gave Wilson one of the more honest and open looks Wilson had ever seen, particularly since the infarction. "I'm not addicted to drugs because I like getting high. If that was the case, I wouldn't be taking Vicodin. I'd have gone for morphine or one of the derivatives. I'm addicted to drugs because I like thinking. When the pain is the only thing I can concentrate on, I can't think. If I can't think, patients die."

Wilson stared back then swallowed. "Why are you telling me this now?"

House snorted. "Why not? You want to know and if this drags on for too long you're going to get an up close and personal viewpoint of the whole thing."

"After last time, I'm not sure I want it," Wilson murmured, feeling guilt wash over him.

"After the last time, I'm _damn_ sure I don't want it," House snapped in reply.

Wilson was silent then he gave a mirthless laugh. "I…honestly don't know what to say. Or do."

House sighed then shifted until his shoulder was resting against Wilson's. He then turned his hand over so that their fingers entwined slightly.

"Neither do I," he said.


	182. Animal

**042. Animal**

Sloth

Wilson gave House a long, slightly incredulous look. "_What_ did you say he has?"

"Oropouche fever," House replied with smug self-satisfaction as he watched his suited ducklings tending to the man in the isolation chamber.

"And he got it from _what_ kind of animal?" Wilson asked carefully as thought he was sure he was being mocked.

House's lips twitched. "A sloth, most likely via a mosquito or a midge."

"A _sloth_?" Wilson said. "What? How?"

"He was down in Panama for a week and got really, really unlucky," House replied.

"This is a _sloth_ disease," Wilson said, still with the air of a man who is _sure_ a joke is being played on him.

"Yup," House said smugly. "I really like this guy. He's made my _year_. This is definitely weird."

"Yes," Wilson said, feeling oddly light headed. He still wasn't entirely convinced that House was being serious.

"I'd better go and track down his loved one," House said, the oddity of the disease making him strangely cheerful. "This thing can be infectious."

With that House limped off down the corridor, whistling to himself and looking almost…_jaunty_. Wilson watched him go with the feeling of having walked into something decidedly surreal then he slowly turned and walked off towards his office. He _had_ to look this one up.


	183. Pray

**043. Pray**

Stolen Prayer

Chase walked into the small non-denominational chapel in the hospital and made his slow, silent way up to the front. Once there he paused for a moment then eased his way down onto his knees. It was a long time since he'd done this but now seemed like just the right time to start again. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in front of his chest. He then bowed his head and began to stumble through the first hesitant words of a prayer.

A prayer for James Wilson who was even now lying on a table in an operating theatre upstairs, doctors and nurses working to repair him, to keep him alive. Chase could only pray that they would succeed. He'd seen Wilson's battered, bloody body brought into the ER. He'd been working down there in an effort to stave off the boredom brought on by not having a patient. But he'd never wanted that break in the boredom to include a wounded Wilson. It was a car accident, they said; a drunk driver slamming into the side of Wilson's car and then driving them both off the side of the road and into a tree. Wilson's car and Wilson himself had caught the brunt of the accident and the firefighters had been forced to cut him out of the wreckage before the paramedics could bring him into the hospital.

He then offered a prayer for the medical staff working on Wilson. A prayer that their hands would remain steady, their expertise would be more than sufficient and that all would be well. He had no idea if such a prayer would work but he'd offer it up anyway. He'd always been told that God worked through mankind. He just hoped that what he'd been told was true and that it would happen this time.

But he saved his most fervent prayers for House. For he'd seen the look on House's face, in his eyes, when he'd delivered the news. He'd still been dressed in the scrubs he usually donned when he worked in the ER and it was only when House stared at his chest, his face paling and horror growing in his eyes, he realised that the blood splattered across them was Wilson's. He'd seen something break in House at that moment, something he'd never wanted to see in his sarcastic, acerbic, bastard of a boss. He hadn't realised that he'd been shaking until House brushed past him, knocking him slightly off balance for a moment. He'd seen the shaking when he reached out with one hand to steady himself.

He wasn't a surgeon; he couldn't help Wilson right now. And he knew that no one could help House; the man simply wouldn't accept it if it was offered. Something he was sure Cameron was discovering right about now. All he could do was stay here and pray. And hope.


	184. Kill

**This is a sequel to the stories for the prompts Hot and Seek and is a complete PWP and one of the most gratuitous uses of a prompt I've ever written. It is also rated either R or NC-17 for smutty mcsmut (I couldn't work out which).**

* * *

**044. Kill**

Chastisement

Wilson shuddered as House's finger trailed over his ribs, barely touching but still feeling like they were leaving fire in their wake. It was the only part of House that was touching him and he arched into it, aching for more contact. The moment he did, House drew his hand away.

"Greg," he moaned as he tugged at the bonds around his wrists that were tying him to the bed frame. "You're killing me."

"Good," House replied, his voice low and heated. "I told you you'd pay for stopping like that."

Wilson looked over at House. His lover was lying on his side on the bed, still fully clothed while he was completely naked. The only concession House had made was to take off his bow tie and loosen the top couple of buttons on his shirt. He was still wearing his jacket and cummerbund though.

"You really _wanted_ Cuddy to catch us?" Wilson asked, trying to keep his desperation out of his voice; his dick was so very, _very_ hard and he wanted _someone_ to touch it…_anything_!

"Do you really think she would have come out on the balcony if she'd seen what we were up to?" House said before he leaned forward and after a slightly contemplative look, nipped at Wilson's shoulder.

Wilson shuddered at the sensation. "She…she might have," he gasped as his hips bucked.

"She wouldn't have," House said with a certainty that might have made Wilson ask some questions in other circumstances. "Though I suppose she might have watched."

For reasons Wilson really didn't want to examine, the thought of that made his dick twitch and he closed his eyes against the low, filthy laugh that came from House.

"Like that idea, do you?" he said suggestively. "Cuddy standing in my office watching as I jerk you off on the balcony. While you go down on your knees and suck me? Maybe even while I bend you over and fuck you?"

Wilson whimpered as those images flashed through his mind and he could feel his dick leaking. House gave another of those low, dirty laughs.

"You think she doesn't know about us?" he almost purred. "You think she doesn't know why you moved into my apartment? You think she doesn't know who leaves those marks on you? And who leaves the marks on me? She's not a stupid woman, Jimmy. She knows."

"Hasn't…said anything," Wilson replied, his voice hoarse as he felt the heat curling in his stomach.

House chuckled, low and dark. "Yeah, I know. Wonder why? Maybe she just thinks that you can make me behave and doesn't want to rock the boat? Maybe she likes seeing the marks on us and thinks if she says anything you'll get all bashful."

"Not…bashful. Discreet," Wilson replied.

House snorted then idly ran a finger around Wilson's nipple. Wilson shuddered and once again tried to arch into the touch. And once again House pulled his hand away.

"Uh-uh," House said with a wicked grin. "I said you were going to pay, not that you were going to get what you wanted. I, however, _am_ going to get what _I_ want."

"Greg," Wilson whined as he tugged on the ties around his wrists.

"Mmm, that's a good start," House said with smug satisfaction. "Now, are you going to keep still?"

Wilson nodded and tried to lie as still as possible. House eyed him with interest then just when Wilson was going to start making demands, House reached out and ran his hand down the middle of his chest. Wilson's eyes fluttered closed and he struggled not to arch into the touch and he made a small whining noise in the back of his throat.

"Mmm, nice," House said smugly then Wilson felt lips press against his own for a moment before they were gone.

"Killing me here," Wilson complained as he somehow managed to keep his head where it was and not go chasing another, deeper kiss.

"Good," was House's reply.

The bed shifted and Wilson opened his eyes again to find that House was in the middle of stripping off his jacket and cummerbund. He made a soft noise of complaint when House stopped there and returned to lie down on the bed.

"I want you naked," he said urgently.

"Ah, but tonight isn't about what _you_ want," House replied with a smirk. "It's about what _I_ want."

"How are you going to get what you want without being naked?" Wilson countered.

House gave him a speculative look then smirked again in a manner Wilson could only call _evil_. He almost choked when House shifted around and got up, grabbed his cane and limped towards the door.

"House? _Greg?_" Wilson called, yanking at his bonds.

House paused in the doorway and cocked an eyebrow at him. "You _wanted_ something?" he said wickedly before walking out of the room.

Wilson jerked and writhed on the bed for a moment but House had done too good a job with his knots and he was most definitely stuck there. He slumped back down and lay there for a moment, panting. A quick look down showed him that not only was his dick still a willing participant in House's insanity it was _really_ enjoying it.

He lay there for a moment _sure_ that House would come back in; after all, he'd seen the erection his lover had been sporting when he left. But when House didn't reappear, Wilson began to get worried. Not that House had hurt himself, if that had happened he'd know all about it, but more that House was going to take care of his own problem and not _his_.

"Greg!" he demanded. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

His breath stuttered when House appeared in the doorway, so quickly that he _must_ have been waiting just outside. That wasn't what upset his breathing though, that was more due to the fact that House was now naked and almost absently stroking his cock.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" House replied casually.

"You're doing something _I_ should be doing," Wilson growled, jerking at his bonds again.

"You _want_ to do this?" House said with a quirk of one eyebrow as he glanced down at his hand on his dick.

Wilson groaned and dropped his head back on his pillow. One of these days he was going to not allow his brain to get so derailed by sex that he forgot whatever game House was playing.

His reaction got another one of those deliciously filthy laughs from House, the kind that made his dick twitch. He looked over in time to see House limp his way back to the bed and crawl onto it. Once he was lying beside Wilson, he went back to slowly stroking his dick again.

"Now…what do _I_ want to do?" House mused, his eyes rapidly becoming half-lidded and dark with arousal.

Wilson closed his eyes and somehow strangled his urge to do anything and just hoped like hell that some of what House wanted to do would involve _him_. When House's mouth closed around his nipple, he gave a strangled cry as pleasure shot through him and his hips bucked. He whimpered almost immediately sure he was going to be tortured by House moving away again but instead House closed his teeth around his nipple and it was all he could do not to scream.

"Mmm, that was fun," House said, his voice finally starting to sound a little strained.

Wilson moaned and clenched his hands around his bonds in place of saying anything that might be misconstrued.

"I think I'll try…this," House said idly then Wilson felt House's mouth on his neck and his hands on his chest.

Wilson groaned at the sudden assault after so much denial and his orgasm ripped through him before he knew what was happening. He dimly heard House swearing beside him and the slick sounds of his lover jerking off until House groaned and cursed and he felt a hot wetness against his side. House collapsed against him and Wilson felt his hot breath against his throat.

After a length of time that Wilson wasn't able to catalogue, House reached up with a fumbling hand and released his bonds. He gingerly lowered his arms, hissing a little at the complaints of his muscles, and stroked House's sweaty back.

"I shall consider myself suitably chastised," Wilson said lazily.

"You do that," House replied, his voice sounding slightly slurred.


	185. Cold

**045. Cold**

Learn To Share

Wilson slowly woke aware that something was wrong. It took a few moments for it to penetrate his sleep-fogged brain that he was cold. Freezing, in fact. He woke up a little further and groaned before propping himself up on one elbow. He looked over at House and tried to decide between irritation and exasperation at the way his lover had cocooned himself in the duvet.

Sleeping with House was interesting. The sex was great…sweaty, fantastic and the best he'd ever had in his life. But actually _sleeping_ with House was…interesting. House seemed to have three basic sleep modes – sprawl, drape and cocoon. The first two Wilson didn't really mind. After all, 'sprawl' involved House doing his best impression of a cat and taking up more space in the bed than Wilson thought was physically possible and since the bed was big enough, that never really did anything more than amuse Wilson. And 'drape' involved House doing a remarkably good impression of a limpet by more or less attaching him to Wilson in as many places as possible which he actually rather liked for many different reasons.

But 'cocoon' drove him up the wall. Thankfully House didn't do it often but since House also insisted on sleeping with one of the bedroom windows open, 'cocoon' could get very uncomfortable in winter.

Wilson shivered as a chilly breeze wafted around the room and he leaned over House with a speculative look in his eyes. Trying to yank the covers away from House right now would simply be an exercise in futility. He knew that from personal experience. It would simply make House curl up even more and hang on to the duvet even tighter. However waking him up wasn't that good an idea either since he tended to get grumpy and would hog the duvet just out of spite.

As he stared down at his sleeping and probably very warm lover, an idea sparked in Wilson's mind and he grinned wickedly. He leaned down further and breathed softly into House's ear, his grin widening when House shivered in his sleep. He did that a few more times then progressed onto licking a stripe along the rim of House's ear. That got him a sleepy mumble and House shifted slightly. Pleased by his success, Wilson took House's earlobe in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment before gently biting down. This time House moaned in his sleep and turned onto his back.

Wilson had been waiting for this and as House moved he deftly unwound the duvet and slid under it, curling up next to House. Given a choice he'd rather encourage House's 'drape' mode. House made an indistinct sound in his sleep then another one of approval as he plastered himself against Wilson. For his part, Wilson encouraged this. He'd been damn cold and House put off heat like a furnace at night. Once House had gotten himself comfortable…all without once waking up…Wilson found that he too was infinitely more comfortable. And no longer cold.


	186. Affair

**046. Affair**

Murphy's Law

"_This is the most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of." – Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre._

Wilson slumped down in his chair in his office and gave some very strong thoughts towards never emerging again. He figured he could possibly talk someone, maybe his brother, into coming along and stringing a rope ladder to his balcony and then he could escape that way. And not come back for a year. He ruefully rubbed the back of his neck and wondered once again what on earth had _possessed_ him to agree to House's suggestion.

Okay, it had sounded kind of fun when House had first suggested it. Fun, arousing and a little on the kinky side. Three things that in hindsight should probably never have been put together at the hospital. But he'd let House talk him into it. Admittedly it hadn't been a difficult sell; he'd spent years silently lusting after House then eventually falling in love with the man. When it came to House and anything involving naked parts of House, he was an easy sell.

Still, making out in coma guy's room was _probably_ not the wisest of things. Though, in their defence, how were they to know that coma guy was going to choose _that_ particular moment to wake up? Or that as it turns out coma guy is deeply, strictly religious and seeing two men making out right in front of him was not a great way for him to wake up from a coma? And how were they to know that the shock would send the man into cardiac arrest? And that two nurses would just happen to be right outside the room? And that they would come charging in at the sounds of the electronic alerts? Before he and House had a chance to move, get up or put their clothes back on?

Wilson let his head fall forward until it hit the desk with a thump. This was not the way he had intended to come out or to reveal his relationship with House. Hell, he wasn't entirely sure he'd _ever_ intended to publicly come out. Maybe quietly to a few selected friends, family and allies but not like this, not so that by thirty minutes after coma guy had been revived, the entire damn hospital knew.

_House_ thought it was amusing, damn him. He'd never cared what people thought of him before this and he certainly didn't give a damn now. Wilson just wished he could be so blasé about the whole thing. He wasn't ashamed of his relationship; he just had no great desire to be the talking point of the entire hospital. Which he was…or rather they were…right now.


	187. Restaurant

**047. Restaurant**

It's A Date

Chase half-rose out of his seat on one side of the booth he was sitting in with Foreman and Cameron and looked around.

"Where'd that waitre…" His voice broke off suddenly and he sat down with a thump, his eyes wide.

"What's your problem?" Foreman said before he took a drink from his beer.

"House and Wilson are here," Chase said, looking a little wild-eyed.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "So what?"

"They _are_ allowed to go to restaurants to eat, you know," Cameron said in a slightly mocking tone.

"I think they're on a date," Chase blurted.

Both Foreman and Cameron gave him long, steady looks then laughed.

"Good one, Chase," Foreman chortled. "But we're not going to buy that one."

"I'm serious," Chase said soberly. "They're both dressed up. _House_ is dressed up. They're sitting in one of those booths at the back that couples like to use because they're out of the way and they can pretend that no one can see them when they kiss and canoodle. And they look _really_ friendly."

Foreman and Cameron stared at Chase for a long moment then they both peered out of the booth in the direction Chase had indicated. When they saw the two men, they began to see what Chase meant. Both House and Wilson were wearing suits and while Wilson wore suits on a day-to-day basis, the last time any of them could remember _House_ wearing a suit was on his date with Cameron. They were indeed sitting in one of the cosy little booths at the back and they looked very comfortable there. In fact it could almost be said that the two men were flirting with each other from the wicked look on House's face and the blush and slightly mischievous look on Wilson's.

Both Foreman and Cameron sat down again and stared at each other and Chase.

"They're on a date," Cameron said faintly. "I…I saw a very pale imitation of…of _that_."

Foreman and Chase were silent for a long, long moment then Chase said in a slightly odd tone, "They're on a _date_."

"I didn't even know they were gay," Foreman added with surprise. "I mean, House is always going on about women and then there was Stacy and Wilson's been married three times."

Cameron broke out of her little daze and rolled her eyes. "Haven't you heard of being bisexual, Foreman?" she said with a hint of condescension before peeking over the back of the booth at House and Wilson again.

"They do look awfully cute together," she said wistfully.

"Really?" Chase and Foreman said in an odd unison, looking at Cameron curiously.

"And it does explain a lot," she continued.

She gave a small gasp as Wilson placed one hand on House's and House responded by weaving their fingers together and giving Wilson a small that she could only call gentle and affectionate. Something deep in her chest hurt at that but as much as she wanted it to be her in Wilson's place, she couldn't deny that the man did have a prior claim. She sighed softly then sat back down again and looked at her colleagues.

"I just have one question," she said as calmly as she could manage.

"Yeah? What's that?" Foreman asked warily.

"How the hell are we going to get out of here without them seeing us?" Cameron asked.


	188. Movie

**This is sort of a sequel to Hot, Seek and Kill. Though it can be read separately it was inspired and does lead on from those fics.

* * *

**

**048. Movie**

Voyeur

Cuddy's first impression was that it was like watching a movie, albeit one without sound. She was standing in House's darkened office, frozen to the spot by what she was seeing. She'd come in to ask how House's current patient was doing after a day of watching the vaguely furtive to-ing and fro-ing of House's ducklings. She'd been surprised to find his office dark since she was sure he was still in the hospital then she'd seen the movement on the balcony. She'd walked into the office expecting to find House outside sulking or possibly even talking to Wilson but instead she'd gotten…_this_.

House was standing facing the office, hands clutching the balustrade convulsively, his cane discarded on the ground. His head was thrown back and his face was a picture of aroused pleasure. His eyes were closed and his lips were swollen and wet. His shirt had been unbuttoned and the t-shirt he was wearing underneath had been rucked up slightly, revealing his stomach and part of his chest. His jeans and underwear had been shoved down to his ankles but she wasn't looking at the scar that could be clearly seen on his thigh. The thing that had Cuddy frozen to the spot and unable to look away was the sight of James Wilson on his knees, his hands clutching at House's hips, sucking House's dick enthusiastically and clearly responsible for the utterly debauched picture House currently presented.

Her breath sounded loud in her own ears and she had to quickly clap a hand to her mouth to cover the gasp when House slid a gentle hand into Wilson's hair. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen such a loving action from House. Maybe before the infarction with Stacy but certainly not since then. She could feel her nipples hardening into peaks in her bra and she had almost physically restrain herself from touching. She knew she should walk out of the office, close the curtains and leave them to it, but she just couldn't make herself walk away.

Just then House lowered his head and his eyes caught hers. She froze feeling like a deer caught in the headlights and nearly turned and ran but then House smirked at her, amusement warring with the arousal and lust in his eyes. His eyes flickered down to where Wilson was kneeling then they met hers again and this time there was a hint of a challenge in them as well.

Wilson must have done something that House thoroughly approved of because he suddenly broke off eye contact with Cuddy and closed his eyes. He looked like he was groaning and she saw his hips buck forward slightly. That seemed to be what Wilson was waiting for and Cuddy saw the oncologist stroke House's hips encouragingly.

As Cuddy watched, House began fucking Wilson's mouth, his hips moving back and forth with growing speed and Wilson kept his hands on House's hips, supporting and encouraging him. Cuddy felt a dark heat pooling low in her stomach and a wetness growing between her thighs and she shuddered with the effort of staying still and silent. Finally House tensed and threw his head back, his face looking almost pained and his hand tightening in Wilson's hair and she knew he was coming. She gasped and staggered backwards, almost vibrating with sexual frustration.

She turned and stumbled to the door, glancing backwards only once to see House pulling Wilson to his feet. He looked over Wilson's shoulder as he pulled his lover into a kiss and his eyes once again met Cuddy's. But this time they were full of satisfaction and lazy satiation and as she turned away, Cuddy also realised there had been something else in those blue eyes. Warning, possessiveness and unrelenting sense of _mine_. Cuddy reeled away from House's office, dimly thankful that there was no one in the corridor and filled with a sense of regret and loss…though for whom she couldn't tell.


	189. Wait

**049. Wait**

Have Faith

"House. Wait."

House came to a reluctant halt but he didn't turn around. He remained standing at the door of Wilson's new apartment, one hand on the handle. He'd come around tonight to ask, obliquely as he always did, for Wilson to come back to his apartment, to come back to _him_ even if he didn't exactly say it in so many words. But Wilson had said no and House knew Wilson well enough to know that he was saying no to more than just the moving back in thing. He knew Wilson had seen what was in his eyes, had heard what he hadn't said out loud. And he'd never coped well with rejection.

"House…" Wilson said softly from behind him.

House cut him off before he could say anything more. "It's fine," he said brusquely.

He was about to turn the handle, open the door, to leave and hope that he could still keep the friendship even if he couldn't have anything more. A warm body plastered itself against his back and he froze, closing his eyes and gripping the door handle so tightly his knuckles went white. He shivered as hands ran down his arms and fingers entwined with his.

"I wasn't saying no to _that_," Wilson whispered in his ear and he shivered again. "At least not exactly."

"What do you mean?" House said then he cursed silently at the raspy, slightly needy quality to his voice. He was starting to be at a disadvantage here and he hated that.

"I'm not one of your hookers, Greg," Wilson said, low into his ear. "You don't get to kick me out or treat me like one. In fact, if you really want this, no more hookers."

House nodded jerkily; he could do that.

"And you have to have faith in me, trust me, just like I have faith in you, trust you," Wilson continued. "I want this and I know you do to, that's why you came here. I won't cheat on you, Greg. You have to trust me."

"You don't have a great track record," House said, finding a spark of snark within him.

He felt more than heard Wilson's soft sigh, a puff of air against his neck and ear making him shiver again.

"I know," Wilson said softly, almost sadly. "But I'm _not_ going to cheat on you, Greg. I promise."

House stayed still, thoughts flitting through his mind, debates raging until finally he nodded and leaned back just a fraction against Wilson.

"Then…yes," Wilson murmured. "And when I move back into your apartment, I'm not sleeping on the sofa."


	190. Crime

**This is actually a crossover with Supernatural. (Yeah, I've got no idea where it came from unless you take into account the fact that I recently bought S1 and have been watching it incessantly! grins)

* * *

****050. Crime**

The Past Comes A'Knocking

House limped up to the door of his apartment and froze when he saw that it was slightly ajar. He _knew_ he'd both closed and locked the door when he'd left this morning; he never forgot something _that_ important. He limped forward carefully and gently pushed the door open. His first impression when he walk into his apartment was the place looked like a crime scene, his things were strewn everywhere and a truly disturbing amount of blood was splattered on the walls and floor. The second thing that hit him was the two young men lying on the floor near his piano and the dark splotch next to them.

House quietly closed the door behind him and picked his way through the debris. He stopped next to the splotch first and poked it tentatively with his cane. It seemed to be dry and the only smell it was producing was a faint lingering tang of brimstone. He sighed and grimaced as he started down at the splotch; he was going to have to replace his carpet.

He abandoned the splotch and moved onto the two unconscious young men, leaning on his cane as he looked down at them, an expression of weary recognition on his face. How they'd found him, he didn't know but he had a nasty feeling his nice, relatively uncomplicated life was about to go down the toilet. He stood up properly once more then prodded the older of the two men in the shoulder with his cane; he wasn't gentle about it.

"Rise and shine," he said sarcastically. "Time for all good little menaces to _get up off my floor_!"

The young man moaned and shifted slightly, trying brush off the cane with one hand. House didn't let and simply prodded him a bit harder.

"Ow, ow, geez, Greg," the young man complained as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times then looked blearily up at House, seemingly taking stock of the other man. "When did you get a cane?"

House scowled. "When I had half the muscles in my thigh removed. What are you doing here, Dean?"

Dean ignored the scowl and sat up, rubbing his head and looked around. "Sam!" he yelped, scrambling over to his brother.

The other young man moaned almost piteously then rolled over onto his side.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," Dean said cheerfully. "Greg's home and I think he's pissed at us."

"He is?" Sam said, sitting up and blinking owlishly. He looked around and grimaced. "Well, I guess that understandable."

House's scowl deepened. "What the _fuck_ are you two doing here? Where's John?"

"Dad's…busy," Dean said, looking unhappy for a brief moment. "We got a tip that Samiel was back and really, really pissed at you. We thought we'd come take care of him for you. You could say thank you."

Surprise flashed across House's face for a moment then the scowl returned.

"Thank you for painting my place in blood?" he growled. "Oh yes, and precisely how am I supposed to explain this?"

Dean frowned. "Explain to who?"

House lips thinned but before he could say anything the front door opened again and Wilson walked in. He dropped his bag at the door then looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the mess, the blood and the two strangers.

"House?" Wilson said hesitantly as Dean and Sam scrambled to their feet.

"Oh, explain to _him_," Dean said as though he'd just had a revelation. "Hey, nice work, Greg. You got a cute one this time."

"Dean!" Sam hissed, eyeing the expression on House's face warily.

"Uh, House? What's going on?" Wilson asked, his gaze flickering around the room. "Should I…?"

"No," House said sharply. "It's…fine. Just…part of my past coming back to torment me."

"Oh," Wilson said slowly as Dean affected a hurt expression. He almost said something but Sam kicked his leg sharply before he could open his mouth.

Wilson's gaze rested on the two strangers for a moment then shifted over to House. "Do I get an explanation?"

The scowl dropped off House's face and a look of weary resignation replaced. "I guess I'd better. Bit hard to hide _this_."

"We could…uh, go?" Sam offered tentatively.

"You're not going anywhere," House snapped, his scowl returning. "You and your brother are cleaning this place up while Wilson and I sit down and have a nice chat."

"Um, okay," Sam said tentatively then he nudged his brother and bent over to start picking up the books closest to him.

Dean looked outraged for a moment but a quick glance at the forbidding expression on House's face and the warning look on Sam's made him sigh and start gathering papers. House watched them for a moment then he limped over and slumped down on the sofa. He looked over his shoulder at Wilson and patted the seat next to him. Wilson eyed the brothers for a long moment then carefully made his way over to the sofa and sat down.

"_That_ is Dean Winchester," House said abruptly, pointing at Dean then he shifted his finger to Sam. "And _that_ is his younger brother, Sam. They have a father named John and are collectively the biggest pain in my arse. I've known them all for years…unfortunately."

"Has Dad been pissing people off again?" Sam said sotto voce to his brother. "Because last time I saw Greg, he was a lot nicer."

"Last time you saw Greg you were _twelve_," Dean whispered loudly back.

Wilson's frown had been growing through all of this. "John?" he said quietly, remembering a tall, solid, muscular man with a beard and a quiet intensity about him. "Is that the same John who came in to see you after the infarction?"

House's hands twitched into fists and he almost snarled. "Yes."

"Yup, looks like Dad's been pissing people off again," Dean said to his brother with a charming grin.

"Okay," Wilson said slowly. "Um, perhaps I should ask why there's blood on the walls and what made _that_?" He pointed to the black splotch on the carpet.

"You don't want to know," House said firmly then shook his head at Wilson's wordless protest. "You do _not_ want to know. Dean and Sam are going to clean up all the blood and then they're going to get the fuck out of my apartment."

Dean handed the books he'd just picked up to his brother and gave House an unhappy look.

"I guess asking whether you'd seen Dad recently wouldn't go down to well then?"

"Your father came in after I was permanently crippled, tossed off some half-arsed comment about how I wasn't of any use anymore then demanded all my weapons," House growled, suddenly looking furious. "I haven't seen him since then. Why? Has something finally eaten him?"

Dean went from looking unhappy to starting to look angry.

"He's missing," he said flatly.

"John always goes missing," House snarled in reply. "So what's new?"

Dean pulled a thick diary-style journal out of his jacket. It was held together by an elastic band and had bits of paper shoved into it.

"He left this," he said belligerently. "He's _missing_."

House eyed the journal with surprise and his anger faded somewhat. "John's journal," he murmured more to himself than anyone else. When he continued, his voice was much calmer. "I haven't seen him in nearly six years."

"He hasn't called or mailed you anything?" Sam asked, coming up to stand beside his brother.

House shook his head. "No, nothing. Why would he? We didn't part on the best of terms."

Dean looked frustrated and slightly despairing as he shoved the journal back into his jacket.

"Look…Samiel was just a good excuse to come here and see you," Dean said awkwardly. "You're _good_ at this job. We…need some help."

Frustration and fury flooded through House and he lurched to his feet.

"Do I look like I can help?" he yelled, waving his cane at Dean. "Do I look like I am of _any_ use to you? Did you think I was using this for the hell of it? That this isn't permanent?"

Both Dean and Sam looked rather taken aback and Wilson rose and placed a careful hand on House's arm.

"House," he said quietly.

House turned his head and Wilson could see the frustration, the helplessness and the pain in his eyes. After a moment, House sighed and closed his eyes and all his anger drained away. When he opened his eyes again, he looked weary and defeated.

"I can't help you," he said quietly to Dean and Sam. "What use would a cripple be out there?"

An awkward, uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Wilson had no idea what this was about and wasn't entirely sure he even _wanted_ to know but he _did_ want to take away that defeat from House. He wasn't sure he liked these two young men who came in and made House look like this.

"You're only a cripple when you want to be," he said to House with quiet humour.

For a moment House did nothing then he snorted and gave Wilson a look of quiet affection and gratitude.

"Here, in _this_ life, I'm not," he said matter-of-factly. "But out there I would be. And I'd be a liability."

Wilson once again didn't really understand but he nodded, a little worried and definitely torn between curiosity and concern.

"We, uh…should finish cleaning up," Sam said awkwardly then he nudged his brother and hustled him out into the kitchen.

"Should I even ask?" Wilson said softly.

House snorted again and slowly lowered himself down onto the sofa. Wilson followed suit and waited for an answer.

"You probably don't want to know and I'm not sure how much you'd believe," House said after a long pause. "But if you really want to know, I'll tell you. Now those two menaces know where I am, they'll probably be back."

Wilson considered the blood-splattered room, the two young men banging around out in the kitchen and the weary look on House's face then he slowly nodded.

"Are you sure?" House asked as Dean and Sam emerged from the kitchen with a bucket, a mop and a sponge.

Wilson spared a moment to wonder where the two young men had found those things then nodded at House.

"I'm sure."

House nodded slowly then drew in a deep breath. "I don't know whether you'll believe me or how I can convince you but…there are things that go bump in the night. Dean, Sam, John…me when I was younger…we bump back."


	191. Choke

**051. Choke**

The Question

Wilson had just taken a bite from his slice of pizza and as such when House made his slightly off-hand suggestion, he choked slightly before quickly swallowing his mouthful.

"You think we should do _what_?" he asked incredulously.

"I think we should get married," House repeated, his gaze remaining studiously on the TV.

"That's what I thought you said," Wilson said slowly. "Um…_why_?"

The last few months had been difficult, to say the least. Between the shooting, the failed ketamine treatment and House's frustration with both, things had become tense and…difficult. Things had finally come to a head about six weeks ago when House had snarled at him one time to many. He'd snapped and shoved the other man against the wall, yelling in his face for the thirty seconds it took to register the sudden squall of lust and desire his actions had prompted in House's eyes. Then there had been another thirty seconds of dead silence as House realised what he'd just given away and Wilson decided on his next course of action. Kissing House had seemed like something of a natural progression given everything else they'd been through over the years. He'd woken up the next morning in House's bed, slightly sore and with a sense of contentment he'd never felt before.

In the subsequent six weeks, they'd settled into a relationship with an almost surreal level of ease and Wilson had finally understood his wives' animosity towards House. He'd always been a bit baffled by it but if they'd somehow picked up these kinds of vibes between him and House then their odd jealousy and animosity made a fair amount of sense. But the last thing he'd ever expected to come out of House's mouth was a marriage proposal. As far as he was aware, House had never even contemplated marriage with Stacy and yet that was what he'd just put on the table.

"Why not?" House said with a hint of sullenness in his voice.

"Well, it's…not legal for a start," Wilson said carefully. "And…I never really thought you were the marrying type."

"We can get married in Canada," House said abruptly.

Wilson looked carefully at House and saw the wary defensiveness in the man's posture. He suddenly realised House was expecting him to treat this like a joke and say no. That House actually really, _truly_ wanted this.

"Um, okay. When?" Wilson said simply.

He was rewarded when House's head whipped around, a looking of mixed surprise and delight in his eyes.

"Busy this weekend?" House said with utterly false casualness.

Wilson matched his tone. "Nope."

Which was how they ended up in Canada, standing side-by-side in front of a celebrant and a couple of witnesses in matching tuxedos (which Wilson had insisted on them wearing on something of a whim…then stuck to it when he saw how much such a trivial matter was irritating House…who had then made him pay in the most delicious manner when he'd worked out Wilson was just having a little fun with him) and exchanging vows and a pair of rings that House had produced from his luggage the previous day and refused to explain where he'd gotten them.

Once the paperwork was done and the celebrant and witnesses thanked, they returned to their hotel room. Wilson disappeared into the bathroom and when he returned he found House standing in front of the window, staring down at the ring on his finger. He walked up behind his husband…and didn't it feel very strange to say _that_…and wrapped his arms around House's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Problem?" he asked quietly.

He knew it wasn't bad when House leaned back into him slightly.

"You do this for all your wives?" House said archly.

"Yes and now apparently I do it for my husband. Though…you're a bit taller than my ex-wives," Wilson said dryly, waiting for House to tell him what was _actually_ on his mind.

House snorted then his lips twitched into a grin. "Can you imagine how everyone is going to react when they see these rings?"

Wilson laughed. "Just don't go around frightening the nurses with it. They might decide to get some very creative revenge."

"Nah, I'm going to see who notices first," House replied, turning and giving Wilson a wicked smile. "My money's on Chase."

"Cameron," Wilson said dryly. "Or at least I hope so. Maybe she'll get the message."

"Aww, Jimmy, are you jealous?" House mocked as he pulled Wilson closer with his free hand.

Wilson tightened his grip on House and considered the question. "Maybe," he said finally.

House raised an eyebrow. "Maybe, huh?" He snorted with amusement. "In case you hadn't noticed, I married _you_."

"No, _really_?" Wilson said dryly. "So that's what we were doing today."

A grin flashed across House's face. "Yeah. So the jealousy, while _very_ cute on you, Jimmy, isn't really necessary."

Wilson smiled ruefully then shifted his hands down to House's arse. "This is our wedding night."

House smiled slowly. "Something which you have ample experience with. Gonna make it good for me?"

House batted his eyelashes and Wilson snickered.

"Well, we've had plenty of practice," Wilson said as he started to shuffle them back towards the bed. "So, you think Chase will be the first to notice?"

"Yes," House said before he leaned forward and kissed Wilson. "No more talking about Chase, Foreman, Cameron, Cuddy or anyone else from the hospital. They put me off sex."

"Can't have that," Wilson said absently, concentrating more on the way House was kissing along his jaw and letting the conversation die in favour of his fourth and, as far as he was concerned, _last_ wedding night.


	192. Fever

**052. Fever**

Fever Dreams

House leaned back against the pillows in his bed and ran one hand wearily down his face. He was exhausted and hurting, two conditions he hated and the fact that he didn't much care right now was either due to irritation or the fact that he was just too worn out. He reached out and snagged his bottle of pills from the side table, opening them and swallowing one. He almost tossed the bottle back onto the table but with the way he was feeling right now, he'd probably miss and he really was too tired to go searching after them. So instead he carefully placed them within reach and settled back against the pillows.

A low mumble drew his attention and he looked down at his lover. Wilson was sleeping, not peacefully or very comfortably but he _was_ sleeping. House brushed his hand over Wilson's forehead and grimaced. His lover's fever was still high. It had been just over 103 last time he'd checked and while he was certain it hadn't gone up, it probably hadn't come down either.

Wilson shifted into his caress and opened fever-glazed eyes, blinking up at him in confusion for a moment.

"Greg," Wilson murmured before he curled onto his side and put his head on House's thigh.

House flinched and gently shifted Wilson's head off his leg, ignoring the mumbled complaint.

"If you want to do that, you have to sleep on the other side of the bed," he said, rubbing his thigh lightly.

Wilson looked up at him with a small, confused frown then his eyes widened almost comically.

"Sorry," he almost slurred, reaching up with one shaking hand to gently pet House's leg.

House shivered at the gentle touch and he quickly captured Wilson's hand.

"Not quite having the effect you were after," he said with a wry smile.

Wilson's answering smile was slightly dazed, somewhat sleepy and yet somehow still very suggestive. "Know what effect _I_ was after," he said, pulling his hand free and rather clumsily groping House's groin.

House caught Wilson's hand and pulled it away with a sigh.

"I appreciate the thought," he said dryly. "But a) you're feverish and not thinking. If you were thinking you'd know there is no way _you_ are going to be able to manage sex of _any_ description right now. And b) it's…not going to happen for me right now either."

There was no response and he looked down to find that Wilson had fallen asleep again. He gently put Wilson's hand back down on the bed and sighed with relief. Wilson could be startlingly focused when he was sick, even as feverish and disconnected as he was now, and if he'd been awake enough to really get in the mood for sex then House would have been hard-pressed to fend him off. Because no matter how enthusiastic Wilson was right now, there was no way House was going to be able to get it up. He was tired, he was in pain and he just had his fourth pill in…well, in too few a number of hours. And if he wasn't able to respond, he'd had got the _other_ reaction that Wilson specialised in when he was sick...the pathetic act. All puppy eyes and pouting lips and incredibly hard to resist…and if anyone at the hospital knew how susceptible he was to that sort of thing, his reputation for being a mean, shallow bastard would be ruined.

He sighed again and shuffled down the bed until he was lying flat. He shifted gingerly onto his side and stared at his lover. Wilson stirred in his sleep and murmured drowsily and House reached over and started gently running his hand through his hair. Wilson murmured again then settled back into a feverish sleep and House kept going until he too fell asleep.


	193. Eat

**053. Eat**

Feed The Man

One of the biggest problems they'd faced after the infarction was getting House to eat. Pain was not something that sharpened the appetite and the amount of weight House lost in the first month, while not dangerous, was definitely a worry in someone who was naturally rather slim anyway. It was not something they'd wanted to continue and in the end Wilson was the one delegated to try and get House to eat.

At first he'd been forced to resort to threats in the face of House's stubbornness. The threat to have a nasogastric tube inserted had been effective but had also led to House sulking openly and audibly for several days. Wilson had put up with the sullen and slightly resentful remarks his threat had gained him with a certain amount of resigned patience. That was until the day he'd had a brainwave. The conversation with Lisa Cuddy had been amusing to say the least.

"You want to do what precisely?" Cuddy asked. 

"I want to get him eating again but I can't do that with hospital food," Wilson replied. "I can with junk food though but if I just come waltzing in with it, he's going to get suspicious and with the mood he's in right now that'll just mean he'll refuse to eat it."

"_So what do you want from me?" Cuddy asked._

"_I want you to…to catch us on occasion," Wilson said with a small smile. "Not all the time but just often enough to make it look like we're doing something against the rules."_

"_Bringing junk food into the hospital is against the rules," Cuddy said dryly. "But I do see you're point. So why do I get to be the bad guy in this?"_

"_Because you delegated me to get him to eat," Wilson countered._

_Cuddy stared at him for a long moment then shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she muttered under her breath before continuing in a louder voice, "So how often do you want me to come in and catch you?"_

"Enough to make him smug about eating apparently illicit food," Wilson replied. "I'll start tonight."

So he had. Starting by supposedly smuggling in burgers and fries from one of their favourite bars. House had actually perked up when he'd produced the bags and Wilson had gotten the closest thing to smile that he'd seen from House since the infarction. Cuddy had come storming in just as they where finishing the last of the fries and proceeded to give them an impressive lecture on what constituted the appropriate food for a hospital environment. House had snarked at her and eaten the last of the fries in an obnoxious and ostentatious manner that had had both Wilson and Cuddy inwardly cheering and outwardly rolling their eyes.

They'd continued this until House had been ready to go home with Cuddy coming in at indeterminate intervals to scold them. House's weight loss stopped and he even gained a few pounds. Once House got home it had been a lot easier to get him to eat simply by coming over, ordering in whatever they felt like and eating while watching TV and drinking a few beers. The only thing that worried Wilson was that House didn't appear to be eating much in the way of lunch or breakfast. Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about that without looking like a mother hen and completely alienating House.

Once House returned to work, Wilson found it easier. He could amble into House's office and suggest they eat lunch. He was more than happy to pay for House's meal if that was what it took to get him to eat. But he always made sure to complain and look exasperated. House would expect that and the last he wanted was for House to realise how much he cared.


	194. Thirst

**054. Thirst**

What Foreman Saw

Foreman stalked away from the Diagnostic Medicine conference room and vowed that in future when he was thirsty he was damn well going to make the trip down to the cafeteria. In fact he was never going into the conference room again unless he was with at least one other person. Because he'd just seen something that made him want to bleach his brain.

He would have been perfectly fine with accidentally walking in on House kissing someone. In fact he'd have enjoyed the situation since for once House would have been at a disadvantage. That and it would have been nice to have some confirmation that his boss was actually human. He could even have coped with walking on House kissing Wilson…which is kind of what he'd done except they'd gone _way_ past kissing. And he didn't _exactly_ walk in on them.

He'd sort of walked into the conference room, peered into the office to see if House was there and seen movement out on the balcony. He'd gone with the intention of letting House know that their patient was still responding well to the treatment but had come to a screeching halt halfway across the room.

Because walking in on his boss getting a blowjob from Wilson was not something he'd _ever_ wanted to see. Even if it _did_ confirm all those rumours about the two men.

Thankfully House hadn't seen him, being far too…busy to pay attention to anything other than the man on his knees in front of him. So Foreman had carefully backed out of the room then stalked out of the conference room in dire need of a coffee and perhaps a bottle of bleach.


	195. Chance

**055. Chance**

It's Obvious

Wilson watched House limp out of the room and refrained from making the comment he wanted to. While House would probably just have laughed, Wilson knew he really shouldn't swear in front of his patients. He looked over at the patient in question, a fourteen year old boy with leukaemia named Scott, and found him grinning at House's retreating back. Once House was gone Scott looked over at Wilson.

"Is he always like that?" he asked, his grin widening.

Wilson gave him a rueful smile. "Unfortunately, yes."

"I wonder if I could get away with doing that?" Scott mused.

"Not until you're a _lot_ older," Wilson replied as he hung the chart on the end of the bed.

"Pity," Scott said, his grin returning and becoming decidedly mischievous. "So…you and him, huh?"

Wilson blinked. "Pardon?"

"You and him," Scott said again. "You're…together, aren't you?"

Wilson suddenly remembered that Scott's family situation was one of the more interesting of the patients under his care. Scott's parents were amicably divorced and his mother had remarried while his father was living with his _male_ partner.

"Uh…no, actually," Wilson said, sounding a little startled.

Scott looked back towards the door as thought trying to see House again then he turned back to Wilson, a speculative look on his face.

"Could have fooled me," he said finally then his eyes widened and he grinned again. "You _want_ to though, don't you, Dr Wilson?"

"Scott…" Wilson began.

"Why don't you?" Scott urged, seemingly oblivious to Wilson sudden discomfort. "I mean…you two were _flirting_ so you know he's interested. And _you're_ interested. Go for it, Dr Wilson!"

"Scott," Wilson said, trying to marshal his thoughts. "It's…not that simple."

"Yes, it is," Scott disagreed bluntly. "Dad thought it would all be too difficult and that why he stayed with Mom for too long. But in the end it turned out to be really easy. What's the worst he's going to do? Say no?"

Wilson knew that House's worst would likely be a lot more than a simple 'no' but he also had to admit that Scott had a point. Since Julie had left, he'd been thinking about House and their relationship; whether they could have something more than friendship, whether that really _was_ interest he thought he sometimes saw in House's eyes, whether they'd destroy their friendship if they became lovers.

Scott saw him wavering and brought out his next argument. "Take a chance, Dr Wilson. He likes you."

Wilson gave Scott a slightly rueful look. "I think there might be something fundamentally wrong about me taking advice from a fourteen year old boy."

Scott grinned and shrugged. "Hey, I'm the one who got to watch the whole flirting, dating-a-guy thing with my _Mom_ and the whole flirting, dating-a-guy thing with my _Dad_. I recognise _all_ the signs. You're all gross, you know that? I'm never dating _anyone_."

Wilson laughed. "I'm sure you'll change your mind in a couple of years."

"I don't think so," Scott grumbled good-naturedly. "So?"

"So what?' Wilson replied with half a grin.

Scott rolled his eyes in an amusingly over-dramatic fashion. "Are you going to walk into his office and kiss him?"

Wilson couldn't deny the appeal of that mental image and he chuckled.

"You know what? I think I just might."

With that he walked out of Scott's room with the young man giving him a cheer as he went.


	196. Appear

**056. Appear**

Now You See Him

Chase had never had a nervous tic before but he was seriously thinking about developing one. House was driving him crazy and he was starting to be firmly of the opinion that a nervous tic was something he needed. If nothing else so that he could point it out to the therapist he was sure he was going to eventually need and say 'Look! Look! See what he drove me to, the misanthropic son of a bitch!'

He had no idea how a crippled man, and a man who always seemed to have a pathological need to be _loud_, could just appear out of nowhere the way House always seemed to do. He was constantly sneaking up behind Chase and scaring the blue blazes out of him. He was starting to get jumpy and paranoid…and this was of course where the need for a nervous tic came in.

Today was just a case in point. Chase had been calmly sitting at the table in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, idly doing a crossword since they currently didn't have a patient. Foreman was off trawling for a case since he'd reached the point of boredom where beating your head against the wall was starting look like an attractive way to waste an afternoon. Cameron was down in the Clinic doing House's hours since she hadn't been able to resist it when House had pulled out the puppy eyes on her, something which would provide excellent snickerage material for Chase for days. And House was…somewhere. Most likely with Dr Wilson. Possibly doing something they shouldn't be. _Definitely_ doing something Chase didn't want to know about considering what he'd seen them doing _last_ week. But either way…not in his office and not in the conference room.

And yet…somehow the man had managed to sneak in and frighten the life out of Chase. This despite the fact that Chase had been _facing_ House's office with the door to the conference room also in plain sight. Okay, he _had_ gotten caught up in his crossword for a few minutes but he still didn't see how House could have snuck in without him seeing. And since Dr Wilson had also snuck in without him seeing, it was making him wonder if they'd never left at all. And if they hadn't left, where the hell had they been hiding and what in god's name had they been doing…

Chase's brain was starting to hurt.

He shook his head abruptly and continued stalking down to the ER, muttering under his breath and bent on settling his ruffled feathers with some nice, calming emergency trauma and steadfastly ignoring the muffled laughter coming from behind him.


	197. Whisper

**057. Whisper**

Watching

Cameron walked into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, reading a file and absently pushing her glasses up her nose. She glanced up as she walked in then went back to her file only to have the sight she'd glimpsed draw her attention again.

"Uh, guys? What are you doing?"

Chase and Foreman was standing at the glass wall that separated the conference room from House's office but they were standing in an odd place and they had the strangest expressions on their faces. Foreman turned around and placed one finger against his lips, shushing her and beckoning her forward.

"Come here," he whispered.

"Quickly," Chase added, also in a whisper.

"Why are we whispering," Cameron whispered as she joined the two men.

"Look!" Foreman whispered, pointing into House's office.

From where the three of them were now standing, they could see through House's office and out onto the balcony. House and Wilson were out there and it took a couple of minutes for what was happening to sink in. House was standing out there with his arms wrapped around Wilson. The oncologist had his face buried in House's neck and was clinging tightly to the older man. As they watched House brought one hand up and began gently stroking Wilson's hair as he murmured words into his ear.

Cameron couldn't help but think that the scene was almost unbearably sweet and for one brief moment she wondered if that was really House out there. She'd never seen that kind of gentleness and caring from House and she felt a flash of jealousy, wishing she was the one who was the recipient of such actions.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"Don't know," Chase whispered back. "Wilson knocked on the balcony door. He looked terrible and House looked a bit surprised before he went out. Foreman saw them like this when he went to fill up his cup."

"It's a bit weird to say this but it's actually kind of nice to get some proof that he can be a decent human being," Foreman added quietly.

Cameron thought about protesting but reams of examples of House's normal bastardry flooded through her mind and she discarded the idea almost immediately.

As they watched, House's gently cupped Wilson's face in one hand and raised it. Even from where they were standing the three young doctors could see the tear streaks on Wilson's face and the misery in his eyes. But House's next action had them all drawing in startled breaths. House murmured something then leaned forward and kissed Wilson. It was a gentle kiss, one full of compassion, and so very obviously one between established lovers. They watched, their eyes wide with surprise as Wilson leaned into the kiss and closed his eyes. When the kiss ended House pulled Wilson close again and the younger man went willingly. House said something that caused Wilson to shake his head then he went back to stroking Wilson's hair.

"House and Wilson?" Foreman whispered. "Huh."

"Guess it makes sense in some weird kind of way," Chase added.

Cameron was silent for a long moment and she could feel Foreman and Chase's eyes on her. Finally she smiled slightly.

"I think they're very sweet together."

Foreman groaned and Chase rolled his eyes and the two men straightened and head over to the table.

"Only you would go from mooning after House to thinking his gay relationship with Wilson was _sweet_," Foreman said with disgust.

Cameron watched the two embracing men for a moment longer then turned and sat down at the table with a small, mysterious smile on her face.

"Well, it is," she stated then opened the file she's been carrying and went back to reading it, ignoring the smirks and shaking heads from the other side of the table.


	198. Day

**058. Day**

Waking

House sighed and tightened his grip around the man in his arms as the first light of day began to creep in through his window. He blinked sleepily and burrowed his face into the back of Wilson's neck, getting an indistinct murmur in response. He knew they'd have to get up soon but he wanted to put off that moment for as long as he could. He felt warm and content and he allowed himself a smile that he buried in Wilson's hair. He even felt as pain free as he ever could though he knew that if he moved that particular illusion would be shattered rather handily.

He wasn't sure what had prompted last night and for now he wasn't going to argue. Since the shooting and the failed Ketamine treatment he'd been honing his reputation as a bastard and aiming for even greater depths. He was actually kind of surprised that he hadn't driven away his team yet though he suspected that the fact that they'd actually been there for the shooting was making them hang in there with gritted teeth and probably very loud obscenities when he wasn't within hearing distance. He didn't take disappointment well and even though he'd _known_ the odds for the treatment were bad, he'd still rather stupidly allowed himself to hope.

Wilson had, not surprisingly, born the brunt of his foul mood since he was about the only person who willingly spent more than five minutes in his presence. Cameron had once been almost as persistent but it seemed that his latest bout of vituperation might just have killed off whatever it was she'd felt for him, much to his relief. Wilson though had stayed and born it all with what even House would admit was truly admirable patience. Oh, he occasionally saw flashes of anger and irritation in the other man's eyes but Wilson had seemed to be waiting for something.

And that something had apparently arrived last night. House couldn't work out what it was that had triggered Wilson's action but he certainly wasn't going to complain about it. He didn't think he'd ever have initiated anything between them but when Wilson leaned over, both anticipation and a hint of fear in his eyes, and kissed him while they were sitting on the sofa watching bad horror movies last night, he wasn't going to reject the man. Not then, not ever, not even if he one day ended up regretting it.

It hadn't stopped with a kiss. Once Wilson realised that he wasn't going to be rejected he'd gone to work on House's shirt, clearly with one aim in mind. House hadn't minded at all and had helped towards that aim in between achieving his own goals, only pausing to relocate them to the bedroom since his sofa wasn't the most comfortable place to be naked, especially with a bad leg. After that he was pretty sure that both of them had achieved what they wanted.

The warm body lying in spooned up tightly in front of him shifted slightly and drew in a deep breath.

"Greg?" Wilson said, his voice slightly gravelly with sleep but House could still hear the tinge of worry in it.

"Yup," House replied lazily as he kissed the back of Wilson's neck then gently bit down.

He grinned at the shudder that ran through Wilson's body and licked where he'd just bitten.

"That answer your question?" he asked smugly.

He could almost feel Wilson's smile.

"Yes, actually," Wilson replied then he carefully shifted around until they were face to face which brought a few other things into contact that House had been manfully ignoring up until now. But now he glanced down between them and grinned.

"You're awake," he said with a leer.

"So are you," Wilson countered, amusement and arousal plain on his face.

"We should do something about that."

"What did you have in mind?"

House gave a smile that danced along the line between evil, a leer and genuine arousal and he rolled them so that he was lying on top of Wilson, ignoring the lance of pain that came as a result of that move.

"I'll think of something," he said before lowering his head to kiss his lover.


	199. Scream

**059. Scream**

Want

Wilson grunted as his back thudded against the wall of the apartment and House pressed up against him. He could feel the heat from the other man's body and he grabbed House's hips and tried to pull him even closer, craving the warmth and wanting to grind his growing erection into House's answering hardness. His mouth was being claimed, the kiss hard and hot and demanding and he willing submitted to it. He let go of House's hips and started fumbling with his shirt, yanking the button-up shirt off and pulling the t-shirt up but not willing to break the kiss long enough to finish the job. He whimpered when House pulled away then hummed his approval when House pulled his t-shirt off. But the older man didn't return to the kiss; instead he took a limping step backwards and grabbed Wilson's tie, yanking him away from the wall.

"Bedroom," he growled, yanking on the tie again to start Wilson moving before letting it go.

Wilson grabbed at the knot in his tie, loosening it as he staggered towards the bedroom. He pulled it off and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed and he was working on his belt when his hands were pulled away and he was shoved down onto the bed.

"Hands off," House ordered.

Wilson thought about arguing but at that moment House started undoing his jeans and stripping them off and Wilson shut his mouth with an audible snap, staring at House with growing lust. He ached to touch his cock, which was pressing almost uncomfortably against his pants, but he was equally as interested in seeing what House had in mind. When House lowered his boxers and let them fall to the floor, Wilson could nothing more than stare. House smirked at him and just stood there for a moment before he wrapped his hand around his erection and began to slowly stroke backwards and forwards.

"Greg," Wilson whined and he deliberately reached for his pants again.

He was surprised at how quickly House moved, climbing onto the bed and knocking his hands away before kneeling over his legs. House then reached out and slowly, oh-so-slowly undid his trousers, lightly brushing his cock accidentally-on-purpose as he did so but never hard enough or for long enough for Wilson's liking. When House started pulling down his trousers and underwear, Wilson eagerly lifted his hips to help him along, ignoring the smirk that he gained. The smirk grew as House threw the clothes over the side of the bed and sat back on his heels.

"Nice," he said as he leered his way up Wilson's body.

Wilson groaned at the look and he sat up just enough to grab at House's arms, pulling the other man down on top of him. They both groaned then as their bodies came into contact and House ground their hips together for a moment before rolling off to one side. Wilson was about to complain when House shimmied down the bed and wrapped one hand around his dick then tightened his grip and ran his thumb over the head, smearing the pre-come that had gathered. Wilson groaned and closed his eyes, his head falling back on the pillow as his hips bucked upwards.

He heard House chuckle and opened his eyes just in time to see his dick disappear into the wet warmth of House's mouth. He choked out a curse and clenched his fists in the sheets. House took this as encouragement and set up an inexorable rhythm. Wilson gasped and writhed, his hand reaching down to grip in House's hair until he finally came with a strangled scream…

…and jerked awake in his own bed, alone.

Wilson gasped for breath and grimaced at the wet stickiness in his boxers. He hadn't had wet dreams since he was a teenager but he couldn't remember those dreams leaving him with the sense of sick frustration that he was feeling now. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and pushed the sheets back. As he climbed out of bed and stripped off his underwear he tried desperately to think of nothing other than what he was doing. Dreams about having sex with his best friend could lead to nothing but trouble, even if the reality was what he wanted…


	200. Fail

**060. Fail**

Rock

Wilson walked out into the outside area of the cafeteria and collapsed in a chair. He raised his face to the weak sunshine and squashed down his urge to cry. He lowered his head and scrubbed his face with his hands, leaving his face cradled in his hands once he was done. He heard someone approaching but didn't move until he felt a hand rest briefly on his shoulder. He raised his head to see Lisa Cuddy sitting down in the chair opposite his and holding out a cup of steaming coffee.

"You look like you could use this," she said simply.

Wilson swallowed hard and nodded, reaching out to take the coffee.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely before sipping gingerly at the hot liquid.

They sat there in silence as people came and went around them. An old couple, wife leaning heavily on the arm of her husband, a young child being chased by his older brother, both laughing wildly, a middle-aged woman looking worried and nervous, a young man smiling with relief.

"It's only his third day of physio," Cuddy said into the heavy silence surrounding them. "It'll get better."

Wilson looked down into his cup of coffee, noticing for the first time that his hands were still shaking.

"I just…it…" He swallowed hard and fumbled the cup onto the table. He ran a hand down his face and took a deep shuddering breath. "Watching him try…and fail…again and again." He made a noise that might have been a sob. "I don't if I can do it," he breathed.

"You have to," Cuddy said, her face full of sympathy. "He won't accept me and Stacy…Stacy's not coming back."

Wilson looked at her with surprise. "What?"

Cuddy grimaced. "She called me this afternoon. You _know_ what he's been like with her since the operation. She honestly believes he hates her. She tried, James, and she still loves him but…she just can't stay."

Wilson scowled. "So she betrays him, has him mutilated and now she runs away?"

"James!" Cuddy said sharply.

Wilson threw up one hand and shook his head. "Sorry."

"She saved his life," Cuddy whispered.

"I know," Wilson said with a sigh.

"He needs you," Cuddy said. "He needs you to be strong. You have…the _strangest_ friendship I've ever seen but it works. He still trusts you. You have to be there for him. He won't let anyone else help him."

Wilson nodded and picked up the cup again. He drained the coffee and stood up.

"Thanks for the coffee…and the talk. I'd…better get back."


	201. Confused

**061. Confused**

Pining

House looked at Wilson, his expression confused and startled. For his part Wilson was filled with a growing sense of dejection and the urge to kick himself thoroughly. He almost leapt off the sofa and hesitated, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

"I…uh…I…I'll just…go," he offered, sounding increasingly miserable as he stumbled his way through the sentence.

House didn't say a word or move as Wilson grabbed his jacket and hurried for the door. When he got outside, Wilson almost ran over to his car and came to halt in front of the driver's door. He fumbled for his keys to unlock the door then yanked it open and sank into the driver's seat. He pulled the door shut and let his forehead come to rest on the steering wheel.

_Idiot!_ he thought to himself as he gently thumped his forehead against the steering wheel. _What possessed you to do that? Now you've gone and lost the best friend you've ever had. Was kissing the man really worth losing him?_

He kept berating himself mentally and was deep into that when he was startled by a sudden rapping on the window. His head whipped around and he expected to see a cop standing there but he was stunned to find House scowling in at him. He slowly lowered the window and then moved back as far as he could as House bent over and shoved his face through the open window.

"Get out and come back inside," House barked. He straightened up and limped back towards the apartment, clearly expecting Wilson to follow.

Wilson was very tempted to stay where he was or at least to drive off and maybe spend the night sleeping away his utter humiliation on the sofa in his office but he wasn't overly surprised to find himself winding the window up and getting out of the car. He locked the door and slowly trailed after House into the apartment. House was waiting for him by the door and he stared at Wilson with a blank face as he walked past. Wilson stopped in the middle of the living room, unsure as to why he was there.

"You're an idiot," House snapped, walking up behind him.

Wilson felt something clench in his chest and a sick feeling settle in his stomach. If House had dragged him back in just to humiliate him further then he was leaving; he certainly wasn't going to contribute to said humiliation by saying anything to fuel the fire.

He watched silently as House limped around until he was standing in front of him then his eyes widened slightly when House reached out and ran his finger briefly along his cheek.

"Give a man some warning next time you plan on tipping the world on its axis," House said gruffly.

Wilson swallowed hard, trying to work out what was going on because he knew what it _looked_ like but he wasn't willing to trust that. He was given a huge clue when House leaned in and brushed his lips in a gentle kiss. Wilson whimpered and when House started to draw back he reached out and cradled House's face with both of his hands, dragging him back for a better, deeper kiss. House made a small noise of approval and when Wilson licked his bottom lip, he immediately opened his mouth to allow him access.

Wilson pressed closer as he explored House's mouth, shuffling them both backwards until House's back hit the wall. He heard the sound of a cane falling to the floor then House's hands were on his hips, pulling him against the older man's body. Wilson groaned into the kiss as his erection came into contact with House's leg and he felt House's answering hardness against his hip. Then reality came thundering back into his mind and he abruptly pulled away, actually managing to put several inches between them. He placed one hand on House's chest when the older man tried to drag him back and he shook his head.

"Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"You need to know _now_?" House asked in what was almost a whine.

"Yes," Wilson said firmly. "You didn't exactly look filled with joy when I kissed you."

"Am I _ever_ filled with joy?" House asked scornfully.

"You know what I mean."

House rolled his eyes. "You surprised me. How was I supposed to know Dr Panty-peeler also liked peeling off boxers?"

"I thought you knew everything."

"I lied."

That got a reluctant smile from Wilson but he still didn't let House get any closer. Finally House sighed and rolled his eyes. He'd have looked thoroughly exasperated if not for the gleam of humour in his eyes.

"You _startled_ me," he said, deliberately over-enunciating each word then he looked slightly disgruntled. "You hid the fact that you were pining for me with the big, gay love rather well."

"I wasn't _pining_ for you," Wilson objected with a tiny smile. "I'll admit to lust. Want is fine but I wasn't _pining_."

House slowly started to grin. "You were pining. With the big, gay love. For me. Admit it."

Wilson rolled his eyes then he pressed himself against House again, kissing him in an attempt to distract him. After all, he had no intention of admitting that he _had_, in fact, been pining for House with the big, gay love. It sounded so…_juvenile_.


	202. Smile

**062. Smile**

Keep Smiling

Wilson tried to smile. He tried hard but he suspected he was mostly failing from the looks he kept getting. But every time he didn't smile people started tiptoeing around him and whispering quietly. Then they'd start speaking to him in deliberately gentle voices as though he was made of fine porcelain and about to shatter. He wasn't going to shatter.

He'd already done that.

He'd shattered the night that House hadn't arrived back at the apartment. He'd been surprised when he'd beaten House home from the hospital since House was riding the motorbike. But then had come the phone call from Lisa Cuddy and Wilson had shattered into tiny pieces.

House was dead. A car had swerved into the wrong lane without warning and collided front on with House's motorbike. It had been that quick. The paramedics had been of the opinion that House had probably died on impact. Considering the injuries he'd suffered Wilson could only hope so; even if he'd survived the collision, House probably wouldn't have survived the injuries.

Wilson had slowly picked up the shattered pieces of himself and put them back together in a haphazard manner and made his way into the hospital. He'd never bothered to go back and fix the repair job he'd done. Why bother? Without House what did he need his heart for?

House had left everything to Wilson; his apartment, his piano, his books, everything. Wilson had been surprised but even more startled when House's parents had told him they'd known of the relationship between him and their son. Wilson had been glad of that. It had been a relief to have someone that knew; someone who could understand what he was going through. They had lost a son; he'd lost a friend…and a lover. He hadn't altered a thing in the apartment.

Somehow Cuddy and Cameron had found out about his relationship with House. Wilson suspected it was from the letters House had left for the two women. It had been inevitable after that that the entire hospital would know. Nobody said a word though; whether out of compassion, tact or confusion, Wilson didn't know…nor did he care.

Oddly enough it was Cuddy and Cameron along with Foreman and Chase who treated him the closest thing to normal. He had a suspicion that they were watching over him. He didn't mind if they were. They were the closest things House had had to friends other than Wilson himself. He liked the idea of keeping them close.

Cuddy had handed the Diagnostic Medicine department over to Foreman. That seemed fitting in its own way though Foreman had looked like he'd wanted to refuse at first. Wilson had no doubts that Foreman wanted to run a department of his own but he suspected that he'd wanted it on his own merits or because House had retired and handed it over to him. It had taken Cuddy showing Foreman the letter she'd been left which had suggested Foreman for the job to convince the man. However, in spite of that, Foreman ran the department in a very collegial manner as though Hose was still in charge and rarely used House's office even though his name was now on the door.

Wilson had an open invitation to the Diagnostic Medicine department at any time whether he was there for a consult or not. Mostly he just sat silently, holding onto the memory of the man who had once presided here, but sometimes he contributed a suggestion or two. Foreman, Cameron and Chase seemed to like having him there and tended to keep glancing at him as though reassuring themselves.

He tried to smile as he kept going. Kept treating his patients, working in the clinic, wishing for House's sardonic, sarcastic comments. Foreman was good but he had a long way to go. Mostly he just wished for House…whether he was in the clinic, in his office, in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room or in their bed.


	203. Come

**063. Come**

A List of Likes

There were many things that James Wilson liked in this life. He liked his mother's cooking. He liked sunrises and sunsets though he didn't see many of them these days. He liked watching his patients walking out of the hospital, smiling and waving at him. He liked the coffee that Cameron made which was one of the myriad of reasons as to why he could be found there so often. He liked listening to House talk whether it was teasing him about his cancer kids or berating his team or his patient's family; he liked that House would say the things that he didn't have the courage to say.

But the thing he liked the most was watching House's face when he made the older man come. It was one of the few times when House's expression was completely unguarded, when you knew _exactly_ what he was feeling. It was the reason why he always fucked House face to face. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see that moment when House's eyes would slide closed and this look of utter pleasure would flow over House's face. His mouth would fall open and he would always, _always_, groan Wilson's name…_James_…in a manner that Wilson knew he would _never_ get tired of. The pleasure, the awe, the desperation in House's voice was always what made Wilson come.

And the thing that was second on Wilson's list of things he liked was post-coital House. Because House did post-coital well. It was as though sex took away all the demons that hounded House and left him languid and lazy…at least for a while. Post-coital House liked to cuddle which Wilson found completely adorable though he'd never admit that to anyone in a thousand years. House would curl up around him and gently caress him and press kisses onto his neck and face. And he'd allow Wilson to return those caresses and kisses until they both fell asleep. And while they were doing that House would murmur things. Most of them would be indecipherable but occasionally some of the mumbled endearments would be audible. Wilson never commented on House's mutterings but he would bury a smile in House's hair, warm delight spreading through him at this reminder that no matter how damaged he was…and never doubt that he _was_ damaged, both physically and emotionally…House was still capable of caring and even loving.


	204. Alone

**064. Alone**

Not Alone

House stared down at the new grave, ignoring the shivers racing through his body and the wet clothes that stuck to his skin. He ignored the last of the mourners now walking away and the rain that was still falling. He ignored the light hand on his arm that belonged to Cuddy and let her question get lost in the white noise in his head. He ignored her weary sigh and the light pat just before she walked away.

He was alone and, for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be. He'd perfected the art of driving people away. He was the master of it. It was a simple matter. Idiots would let themselves be alienated; the smart ones would see past it and maybe even be intrigued enough to stay and find out what was underneath the snark. Find out what made Gregory House tick. Wilson had been one of those and now he was gone and House was alone.

The problem now lay in the fact that he wasn't sure he knew how to be alone anymore. When he looked at objectively he hadn't been for over ten years…ever since he met James Wilson. Wilson had become his partner in crime. Not always willing but he was always willing to be talked into doing things that he normally wouldn't have. And he'd always come when House called. Even when it was the middle of the night. The only time he hadn't been there had been during the infarction and there had always been a sneaky little voice in the back of House's head that insisted that Wilson had been there it wouldn't have gotten so bad. It wasn't very logical, that voice, but it had never gone away and House suspected that that voice had been more of a reason for his break-up with Stacy than what Stacy had actually done. Wilson was a champ at getting things he wanted. When House had first suspected what was going wrong with his leg, he'd wanted to have an MRI done. His doctors had refused, saying it was worthless test. That little niggling voice I the back of House's mind always said that Wilson would have found a way to get the MRI done. Wilson was _very_ good at getting things done. Maybe it would have changed things. Maybe it wouldn't have.

But Wilson had always been there. Always there to connive, to laugh, to scold, to roll his eyes and to just…_be_. House wasn't sure he wanted to be alone.

"House?"

House turned his head to see his team standing beside him, Chase in the lead. All three were huddled under umbrellas.

"Geez, you're an idiot, you know that?" Foreman groused as he handed his umbrella to Cameron and stripped off his overcoat. He stepped forward and threw the coat over House's shoulders and House realised for the first time how cold he was. He also felt a small spark of warmth kindle inside at the slightly exasperated looks on their faces and the carefully hidden worry in their eyes.

"You're going to get a cold if you stay out here," Cameron said, her tone more pragmatic than anything else, which kindled that spark even more. House didn't want sympathy.

"Then you'll be impossible and we'll be tempted to string you up by your toenails and Cuddy will get annoyed with us instead of you," Chase finished.

"And we try to avoid that," Foreman observed with a small smirk. "Makes our lives a _lot_ easier if she's pissed with you instead of us."

House snorted and let Chase lead him back towards the car that was sitting not to far away.

"It's not my job to make your lives easier," he said in something approaching his usual snark.

"It's not your job to make us break into patient's houses but you do _that_," Foreman replied, still smirking.

"I'm just taking advantage of your _expertise_," House said mockingly.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "I stole a car. _Once_. I'm hardly a criminal mastermind."

"Aw, now you're just spoiling my carefully constructed stereotype of you," House mock-pouted, relieved that at _someone_ was willing to do more than just tiptoe around him. The banter, though not on par with what Wilson could come up with, was making him feel less alone.

Foreman gave House a flat look then turned to his colleagues. "I thought you two were supposed to stick up for me?"

"And have him turn his attention to us? You're nuts," Chase replied, hiding his amusement.

"Divide and conquer, that's my motto," House said smugly as he opened the door to the car and lowered himself into the passenger seat. The others also got into the car with Foreman behind the wheel.

"Just for that, I'm driving like my Grandma," Foreman said equally smugly.

"Hey, you're not allowed to torture us," Cameron objected with a small smile.

"That's _my_ job," House replied.

"So you keep saying," Foreman replied blandly before he put his foot to the floor and screeched down the road towards the entrance to the cemetery.

The sudden unexpected move startled a bark of laughter out of House as he grabbed for a handhold. He shot a look over at Foreman and decided that maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.


	205. Fast

**065. Fast**

Move Fast, Think Faster

House opened the door to his apartment then suddenly ducked as something came flying at his head, grabbing Wilson and dragging him down as well. House was fairly sure he hadn't moved that fast in years. The object shattered against the wall behind them and from the sound House suspected it was one of his coffee cups.

"House?" came Wilson's startled voice and House shook his head.

He winced as he shifted just enough to see into the living room; his leg had not liked his swift move and was now letting him know that in no uncertain terms. When he looked into the room, he saw a man half-crouched in the middle of his living room and he sighed and leaned back against the wall.

"For fuck's sake, John," he snarled. "I _am_ allowed to walk into my own apartment, you know."

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that, Greg," came a sheepish voice from inside the apartment. "Just a bit on edge lately."

"I suppose I should be glad it was just a coffee cup," House grumbled as he dragged himself upright with Wilson following suit.

They walked into the living room to find a stocky man with a beard and sad eyes standing there. He looked tense and tired though a hint of surprise and recognition ran across his face when he saw Wilson.

House dumped his bag next to the sofa and scowled at the man.

"John Winchester, James Wilson. Vice versa."

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he recognised the man who had visited House briefly after the infarction and had apparently been less than diplomatic. John noticed this but his attention remained on House.

"Your brats were here," House snapped. "They were looking for you. Apparently you're missing."

"I know," John replied. "It's…a long story. It's for their protection."

House snorted. "They're big boys, John. I don't think they really need your protection anymore."

"They're my _sons_," John said with an air of finality.

House rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

John's gaze flickered between House and Wilson and he hesitated. House scowled in response.

"Whatever you plan on saying to me, you can say to Wilson," he snapped.

John's gaze sharpened as he looked at House then quirked an eyebrow and grinned momentarily.

"I thought your type was tall, brunette and leggy."

House pretended to peruse Wilson. "He fits."

Surprise flitted across John's face then he sobered. "Greg…I need…do you still have your weapons?"

"I wondered what the sudden visit was all about," House sneered. "Didn't think it would be because you actually cared."

John's jaw clenched. "Dammit, Greg. I'm _sorry_, alright? I know I didn't handle things well last time and it wasn't because I didn't care about what happened to you. I was having…problems with Sam and I'd just sent Dean off on his first hunt and it turned out to be a lot bigger than I thought it was. I was worried about my boys and I…neglected our friendship. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence as House stared at John. Wilson watched this with curiosity; he remembered bumping into John Winchester coming out of House's hospital room. John had looked frustrated and worried and had barely acknowledged Wilson's presence except for a muttered apology. House had been angry and bitter when he'd gotten into the room and had snapped at him relentlessly before turning his back and pretending to sleep. Wilson had stayed until the sham sleep had turned into real sleep then had slipped out to try…unsuccessfully as it turned out…to find the man he'd bumped into and find out what had happened to put House in such a foul mood.

Finally House sighed and nodded. "Why do you want my weapons?"

John opened his mouth but Wilson beat him to the punch.

"Wait. You actually _do_ have weapons? Why?"

House gave him a withering look. "I told you why. You didn't think I threw them away, did you? I may be useless now when it comes to hunting but I'm not stupid enough to get rid of everything. Never know when I might need it."

"I don't know, Greg, you moved fast enough just before," John said with a small smile. "Useless might not be the best description."

House switched the withering look from Wilson to John then he limped into the bedroom. Wilson watched him go then turned to look at John only to find the other man staring at him with equal interest.

"Greg told you about…what we do?" he said.

Wilson nodded. "There was blood on the walls, a scorch mark on the carpet and your sons lying on the floor. There aren't many ways of explaining something like that other than the truth."

John smiled wryly. "True. You seem…surprised."

"I didn't know House did anything like that," Wilson replied warily. "He…doesn't often talk about his past."

John nodded. "He was a good hunter when we could get him out of the hospital."

"How…how did you meet?" Wilson asked.

John grimaced. "Sam got sick. I was…hunting and Dean was looking after Sam. He didn't want to take Sam to the hospital because he knew I'd worry if they weren't at the motel when I got back so one of the staff called in a doctor she knew."

"House," Wilson stated.

John nodded. "Unfortunately the thing I was hunting tracked my trail back to the motel and attacked while Greg was there. I got back in time to kill it but Greg had seen quite a bit by then. He talked me into admitting Sam to hospital and then got the whole story about…what we do out of me."

"When was this?"

John frowned. "Uh, quite a while ago. Fifteen years, at least. Probably more. The boys weren't that old."

Wilson's next question was lost when House limped back into the living room, awkwardly dragging a large metal box behind him that Wilson had never seen before.

"Where was _that_ hidden?" he asked as he hurried forward to help.

"Under the floor of the closet," House grunted as he let his end drop to the floor then he turned to John. "What are you after?"

John walked over and undid the catches on the chest. "The dagger you used to kill that demon in Modesto. I'm not sure it'll work on what I'm after but I want some back up plans in place."

"Right hand side, in the compartment under the shotgun," House said shortly.

Wilson looked into the chest and his jaw dropped. The variety of weapons inside staggered him. There were knives of all sorts along with a variety of guns, ammunition and oddly enough crucifixes and a couple of small flasks.

"You…know how to use all of these?" he said with House with disbelief.

House nodded. "Have used all of them at one time or another." He rolled his eyes. "I _told_ you what I once did. I thought you believed me."

"I did…mostly," Wilson replied faintly.

John pulled a long thin dagger out of the chest and held it up to the light. The dagger was made of steel but it had strange design carved into the blade that seemed to writhe and twist in the light. John nodded in satisfaction and pulled a length of cloth out of his jacket. He quickly wrapped the dagger in the cloth and tucked the bundle back into his jacket.

"Sure there's nothing else you like to loot off the cripple?" House said sardonically.

John gave House a long look. "You always used your brains more than your brawn. I can't see any reason why that would or should change now. You moved fast enough before." He paused and gave Wilson a considering look. "And no one ever said you have to work alone."

"No," House said abruptly, his face going flat and pale.

"Why not?" Wilson said.

House whirled and glared at Wilson. "It's dangerous," he said flatly.

Wilson looked over at John for a moment. "Maybe we should talk about this later."

House switched his glare over to John. "If you're done with your looting, you can leave."

John grinned then sobered. "Think about it, Greg. You were _good_. There's no reason why you still can't be." He started walking for the door then paused. When he looked back his face was shadowed and his eyes were full of sorrow. "And Greg…if anything happens to me…look after my boys."

With that John opened the door and left.


	206. Slow

**066. Slow**

Putting On A Show

Wilson scrubbed his face with one hand and gratefully retreated to his office. He felt like he'd been working in slow-motion all day and it was making him feel stupid and useless. He couldn't seem to shake his dream from last night and his mind was replaying parts of it at the most inopportune moments. He'd finally given up just a few minutes ago when he'd walked into House's office to find him sucking on a lollipop. He'd frozen to the spot, watching House slurp on the red candy in a thoroughly obscene manner then turned and fled the room with a strangled sound and a sudden, very embarrassing bulge in his pants.

He collapsed on the sofa and lay down, flinging one arm over his eyes and with an almost guilty air, let the other hand slide down until it was gently rubbing his erection. Bits and pieces of his dream began to surface in his mind and he bit down on a moan. He snatched his hand away from his dick with a muttered curse then put it back with another muttered curse. He kept his hand still for a moment as he debated whether he really wanted to do this then he slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

He lowered his other hand but kept his eyes firmly closed and quickly shuffled his pants and underwear down. He wrapped his hand around his dick and groaned. He let the images from his dream flow through his mind as he slowly stroked his cock, pausing from time to time to swirl his thumb over the head to collect the precome. He deliberately kept his rhythm slow despite the desperation that the sex in his dream had been full of. He wanted to draw this out. If he couldn't have the man he was dreaming about then he was at least going to take advantage of it. He knew he'd was probably going to try and avoid House for the next day or two but right now he'd had enough and wanted something for himself.

A low tension slowly began to coil low in his stomach but he steadfastly refused to speed things up, stroking long and slow until finally his orgasm was unavoidable. He gasped his way through it, House's name prominent in his litany, still stroking at that slow pace until his dick became too sensitive. He then let his hand fall away and lay there, breathing hard for several minutes until the realisation that he'd just jerked off to fantasies about his best friend began to seep through his sated consciousness.

He winced and sighed, trying to convince himself it had been a bad idea but his day had been bad enough that he couldn't bring himself to do that. He opened his eyes and a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head and paled.

House was standing outside the door to the balcony, having obviously hauled himself over the low wall. He was staring at Wilson intently. His eyes were wide and Wilson could read the lust, desire and shock that were so clear in their blue depths. As he watched House licked his lips then jerked around and limped away, climbing awkwardly over the wall between their balconies.

Wilson scrambled to his feet and fumbled for a tissue. He quickly cleaned himself up then pulled up his trousers and faced the door. But much to his surprise, House did not appear and after nearly ten minutes Wilson took a deep breath and walked next door to House's office. The older man was nowhere to be seen and Wilson stuck his head into the conference room where House's team were sitting around the table doing nothing in particular.

"Seen House?" he asked in what he devoutly hoped was a casual manner.

"Gone," Foreman said without looking up from the journal he was reading. "Took off about ten minutes ago."

"He looked a little…upset," Cameron added with a small frown.

"Ah…thanks," Wilson said.

He quickly headed back to his own office and sat down heavily in his chair. House had seen him jerking off and if Wilson was any judge, House had _liked_ what he'd seen. As far as Wilson could tell, he had two options. One, he could do nothing, pretend it hadn't happened. But he didn't think he'd be able to manage that and he was fairly certain House wouldn't be able to manage that and he didn't think he could handle this being a _thing_ between them. Which really only left option two. Go after House and find out exactly what the other man had liked about what he'd seen and if he wanted to try something more…interactive. Wilson grinned as he stood and stripped off his lab coat. He grabbed his jacket and bag and hurried out of his office. Option two sounded pretty damn good to him.


	207. Return

**067. Return**

Welcome Home

Wilson watched the familiar sights of home flow past the windows of the taxi and felt himself slowly relax. A week spent at a conference was far too long in his books. It wouldn't normally have been that long but one of the organisations he belonged to decided to hold their annual meeting to coincide with the conference so that had added two more days to his itinerary that he hadn't really wanted.

The conference had come at an awkward time in his personal life though _awkward_ perhaps wasn't the word for it. His personal life had taken a turn for the strange but definitely _very_ welcome the night that he'd turned to House to comment on the baseball game they were watching and found the other man staring at him with an expression that he couldn't place for a moment. It had only been when House had quickly blanked his expression that he'd been able to put a name to it. _Want_. House had been staring at him with want, need, desire and a sense of mine, mine, mine written all over him.

Wilson had hesitated for only a second before leaning in and pressing his lips to House's. For a long moment he thought he'd made a mistake then House had _shifted_ under him and the kiss had gone from tentative to magma in less than a second. He had flash-frame memories of getting from the sofa to the bedroom then it all slowed down into _naked_ and _hot_ and _touch_ and _yes, there, fuck, yes, Greg_. The feel of House sliding into him had made him feel like his heart had stopped then restarted at a jackhammer pace. And the way House had groaned his name when he came was a sound he would remember to his dying day…something made easier each time he heard it again.

But in spite of all of that he really didn't know _why_ this had suddenly started between them and what House wanted. He knew what he wanted but House had been evasive every time he'd even hinted at raising the subject. So he'd left for his conference and meeting feeling slightly off balance and hadn't really been able to settle the whole time he was away. The whole thing hadn't been helped by the fact that House had been neck deep in a case and hadn't called or really had time to speak when Wilson called.

The taxi pulled up in front of House's apartment and Wilson paid the driver before lugging his suitcase up to the door. He fumbled for his keys for a moment then opened the door and stumbled inside. He shut the door behind him with an air of finality and let his suitcase fall to the floor. He leaned back against the door, tucked his keys back into his pocket and sighed with relief.

He looked idly around and was surprised to find the living room was empty. It was late enough that he'd expected House to be home but early enough that he was sure his lover wouldn't be in bed yet. He sighed again and picked up his suitcase, slowly making his way into the bedroom. When he got there he stared and dropped his suitcase.

"Took you long enough."

House was lying on the bed, stark naked and very, very aroused. He was watching Wilson with open and very lascivious amusement as one hand slowly stroked up and down his erection.

Wilson licked his lips, suddenly very, very hard. "Fuck!"

House grinned wickedly. "If you like."

Wilson's jaw dropped then he yanked at his clothes, hastily stripping himself as House turned over, grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his hips. Wilson swallowed hard at that then crawled onto the bed, letting one hand drift up House's leg to his arse. House shifted under his touch, spreading his legs wider. In return Wilson slid his fingers down to brush over House's anus. When he encountered the slick glide of lube, he shuddered and swore. House had _planned_ this. Wilson's brain nearly derailed at the thought of House's fingers sliding in and out of his own arse, preparing himself then just waiting for Wilson to get home.

"God…Greg…_fuck_," Wilson groaned as he moved between House's legs and slowly slid into House's arse.

He had to stop then, resting his forehead on House's shoulder as he gasped for both breath and control. House was so hot and tight and slick and he was right on the verge of embarrassing himself.

"You could move, you know?" House said, his voice sounding scratchy and strained and he bucked up slightly.

Wilson gasped then grabbed House's hips pulling him up onto his knees.

"Can you…your leg…" he stammered.

"Yes, yes, come on, _move_," House snapped as he braced himself with both hands.

Wilson didn't wait for any further invitations. He slowly pulled back then shoved forward, hard. He heard House moan and curse underneath him as he repeated that action. He curled over House's back as he continued his slow withdrawal and hard, fast return, letting one hand slide up House's side and around his chest. He shifted the other hand until he could wrap around House's cock, starting a rhythm that matched his thrusts. House gasped underneath him and started shoving back to meet him and in that moment Wilson broke. He pulled the hand that had been wrapped around House chest back and gripped his lover's hip before starting up an unrelenting pace, hard and fast, in and out, the hand on House's dick echoing the rhythm.

House bit back a choked scream that sounded very much like Wilson's name as he came, his hand clenching into fists in the sheets. Wilson groaned as House tightened around his dick and he lasted only two more strokes before he emptied himself into House's arse.

House collapsed onto the bed with a pained hiss that somehow managed to penetrate the fuzz taking up Wilson's brain. He summoned enough strength to roll off House then he curled up against his side and began to gently rub his back.

"You okay?" he asked once he'd managed to work out how to speak again.

For a long moment House didn't answer and a hint of alarm began to thread its way through Wilson then House shifted enough to turn his head and looked at him. Wilson relaxed at the lazy pleasure that was dominant in House's eyes and he resumed his caresses.

"Good," House said with a languid smile. "Have to do that again."

"Not right now. You killed me," Wilson said, his voice starting to slur as he began to drift off. "Can't believe you did that."

House gave a lazy chuckle then shifted around until he was lying on his back and had Wilson curled up half on top of him.

"Though you'd like it."

"I did," Wilson mumbled, smiling softly as the 'have to do that again' comment rolled around his brain and lulled him into sleep.


	208. Positive

**068. Positive**

Expecting

Wilson sidled into House's office late in the afternoon and gingerly sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Well?" he said after a quick glance into the other room.

House looked up from the comic book he was reading. "Positive."

Wilson's jaw dropped. "Positive? Are you sure?"

"No, I deliberately bodged the test. Of course I'm sure. It was positive."

"But…but…_how_?" Wilson asked in a tone of bewilderment.

House snorted. "The usual way I'd say."

"But…we were so careful," Wilson said as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"Well, it only takes one mistake," House said philosophically as he turned a page of his comic.

"What are we going to do?" Wilson asked urgently.

"What can we do?" House replied, seemingly unconcerned.

"Well, we have to make _some_ kind of decision."

"There's not much we can do now," House said with exasperation. "What's done is done."

"What are we going to tell your parents?" Wilson said grimly. "And mine?"

House winced. "Can we just _not_ tell them?"

"We can't _hide_ it," Wilson objected.

"Why not?" House said with a scowl.

"Because…we _can't_," Wilson replied. "Besides…we invited them over for New Year's. It'll be pretty damn obvious by then."

"We'll cancel," House said waving his hand dismissively.

"We can't," Wilson said flatly. "My parents have already organised everything. We have to tell them."

"They're not going to care," House said, his scowl deepening.

"House!" Wilson objected. "After dinner the other week? Of course they're going to care. How accurate was that test anyway?"

"It was accurate. I looked it up," House snapped. "We're testing for hormones and hormones are hormones. They were in the right range."

Wilson grimaced. "I hadn't exactly planned on this happening."

House rolled his eyes. "Well, you should have though about that before."

"She's so _little_," Wilson said helplessly.

House gave an exasperated sigh. "She's a full-grown cat, no matter how small she is. She obviously snuck out of the apartment at some point and got knocked up by the neighbourhood tom. I told you to get her desexed since she's obviously as big a floozy as you are."

Wilson gave House a flat look. "I am _not_ a floozy."

House glanced up at Wilson, his face full of amusement. "Good point. Not any more anyway. Guess I made an honest man of you."

Wilson rolled her eyes. "I'd believe your grumbling a lot more if I hadn't seen you curled up with her in the mornings."

House muttered under his breath as a faint blush stained his cheeks. "_You_ bought her, she's _your_ cat, _you_ work out what to do with the kittens."


	209. Baby

**069. Baby**

Left Holding The Baby

Chase walked into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room and came to such an abrupt halt that Foreman and Cameron had cannoned into his back before they realised he had stopped.

"Geez, Chase, what are you doing?" Foreman said with irritation.

"Please tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing," Chase said, his eyes wide.

Foreman and Cameron followed his gaze into House's office and their jaws just about hit the floor. House was sitting in his armchair with Wilson leaning on the wall nearby and they were clearly chatting. That was completely normal but what had the three young doctors gaping was the baby House was gently cradling in his arms.

House looked startlingly competent holding the baby and Wilson's expression was one of indulgent amusement as he chatted with his friend.

"Uh," Foreman said, sounding like his brain had derailed.

"Yeah," Chase said, agreeing with him.

"Why is House holding a baby?" Cameron said carefully.

"Who'd trust him with one?" Chase said with sudden amusement.

As they watched the baby waved one chubby arm in the air and Wilson pushed himself off the wall. He walked over to lean on the back of the chair and held one finger out to the baby, smiling when one tiny hand grabbed tight. They saw House look up at Wilson and make a comment that drew a laugh then look back down at the baby.

Something must have caught their eye because both House and Wilson suddenly looked over towards the conference room. The three doctors in that room froze but then they noticed that both House and Wilson had looks of growing chagrin on their faces. Without even looking at each other, Foreman, Cameron and Chase each grinned wickedly at the two men in the other office.

As they continued to grin they saw Wilson give a resigned sigh then House said something that made the oncologist give him a startled look. House then smiled, his grin matching his ducklings'. Wilson slowly grinned back then he leaned over and kissed House.

The grins suddenly disappeared from the faces in the conference room and were replaced by gaping mouths and wide eyes.

"Uh," Foreman said, sounding like his brain had derailed again.

"Yeah," Chase said, sounding exactly the same.

"Um," Cameron added, making a complete set.

As they stared in stunned amazement, the kiss deepened and the baby, which was still being cradled carefully in House's arms, grabbed hold of Wilson's tie and yanked on it. The two men separated with Wilson gently detaching his tie as he laughed at both the baby's actions and House's amused comments.

Finally Chase managed to summon enough brainpower to speak.

"Are we being punk'd?"

Foreman and Cameron immediately started looking around for cameras. When none seemed to be in evidence their eyes inexorably drifted back House, Wilson and the baby.

"I don't think so," Foreman said slowly. "I…think it's real."

"It's…really very sweet," Cameron said, her shock slowly giving way to delight in the picture that was in front of her. She had very carefully determined that she would think about all of this later and just appreciate what was in front of her right now.

Chase also began to smile again. "Yeah, you have a point."

Foreman snorted, amusement now starting to overcome his shock. "You realise we've got blackmail material for _months_ here?"

"Well, considering what our expressions must have been like, I think that's kind of mutual," Chase replied. None of them had taken their eyes away from House, the baby and Wilson.

Just then the door to House's office opened and Cuddy walked in. She smiled at the two men then made a comment and laughed. House gave her a mock-scowl as Wilson joined in the laughter then he too started to smile. He said something to Cuddy and nodded towards the conference room. The three doctors froze as Cuddy turned to look at them then she walked over and opened the door.

"Enjoy it and remember it," she said wickedly. "You may never see the sight again. That's my nephew, by the way."

With that she closed the door again and reclaimed the baby from House, making one last grinning comment before walking out of the office. House laughed then grabbed Wilson's tie and shot one mischievous look at his ducklings before pulling him down into a kiss.

Foreman glanced over at his colleagues. "Strategic retreat?"

"Good idea," Chase said with alacrity.

Cameron nodded and the three young doctors did an abrupt about turn and headed out of the conference room.


	210. Upset

**070. Upset**

Root of Cause

Wilson stood in the hallway and bit his lip. He'd been in and out of his office all day and every time he'd been in this corridor he'd seen calm and serene people entering House's office then leaving it in various states of upset. He hadn't really been too concerned at first, assuming that someone must have done something stupid and House was taking it out an all and sundry. However it was now late in the afternoon and it was still going on and Wilson was starting to get a little worried. House's sour moods usually spent themselves by the fourth stupid person and he'd just settled for being irritated and mocking.

He sighed and started walking towards the door to the office. It was a wonder he hadn't had one or all of House's team in his office, asking him to calm their boss down; that was not an uncommon event and he'd certainly seen Foreman stalking away looking furious earlier in the day and Cameron leaving in a state of near tears just after lunch, so he was a bit surprised he hadn't had any visitors.

He stopped just in front of the door and peered inside the room. House was sitting behind his desk in what could only be described as a full-on curmudgeon mode. He was slumped in his chair and scowling at the desk, thumping his cane against the floor. He looked like he was quite willing to take to anyone who entered the room with that cane.

Wilson rolled his eyes then settled his expression into one of bland curiosity that he knew drove House up the wall. He pushed the door open and ambled into the room, sitting down in the chair opposite the desk and stretching his legs out.

"I counted eight," he said conversationally.

"What?" House snapped.

"Eight poor souls who have felt the dreaded stinging lash of Dr Gregory House," Wilson said with quiet amusement.

House's scowl deepened. "Want to make it nine?"

Wilson carefully concealed his surprise. He had been expecting to get at least some signs of amusement from his comment, not to have House turn on him as well. He considered the matter for a brief moment then mentally shrugged and decided on a full frontal approach.

"Alright, what bug have you got up your arse today?" he said firmly. "Because in a battle of snarls between you and Cuddy, I'm going to back Cuddy. And that battle's got to be coming soon."

Something flashed across House's face that Wilson couldn't quite identify but he knew it was dark and unpleasant and his levels of concern and worry ramped up abruptly.

"I'm fine," House said bluntly. "Piss off."

"Yes, because _that's_ going to convince me," Wilson said firmly. "What's wrong?"

House looked mulish. "Nothing."

"Try again."

"Nothing!" House snarled.

Wilson crossed his arms. "Try. Again," he said flatly.

House glared at him then turned to face the windows. He was silent for a long, long moment then his shoulders slumped slightly.

"I worked something out," he said in a quiet, slightly defeated tone.

"What?" Wilson pressed. "Something about your patient?"

House shook his head and was silent again for a moment. "About me?"

Wilson frowned. "Are you sick?"

"Not like that," came the dismissive response. "Just…something. It's not important."

"Considering the way you've been acting today, I think it _is_ important," Wilson replied. "Tell me."

House hunched his shoulders and his entire body just screamed defensiveness. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's nothing."

"I don't believe you," Wilson said patiently. "Tell me."

House turned around and Wilson's eyes widened at the pained expression on his friend's face.

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

"Tell me," Wilson repeated with a little less patience. "I doubt there's anything you could do after all these years that would upset me."

House snorted and stared at him. Wilson waited patiently, figuring he could easily outwait his friend.

"I…" House began before he trailed off and stared at the top of his desk. He looked uncomfortable and unaccountably nervous and Wilson was torn between worry and curiosity.

House looked up and suddenly Wilson got it. It was there in House's face. For once the walls were down and House was letting him see it all. And there, written across his face, were emotions Wilson wasn't expecting. Desire, want, lust, fear, hope, worry…and love. Wilson stared at House and swallowed hard. He was almost operating on automatic as he pushed himself to his feet. He briefly saw the hope grow then he turned and strode out the door, not seeing the pain that flooded across House's face before it became utterly, frighteningly blank.


	211. Kitchen

**071. Kitchen**

Breakfast in Bed

House slowly woke and he shifted around in the bed, wincing as his leg twinged. He sighed and rolled over until he could reach the small orange bottle on the bedside table. He popped the lid open, shook out one of the pills and dry-swallowed it. He put the bottle back on the bedside table then lay back down.

When the pill finally kicked in, he stretched one hand out over the other side of the bed, raising an eyebrow as he realised the sheets were cool to touch. He slowly climbed out of the bed and grabbed his cane before limping out of the bedroom.

Sounds from the kitchen got his attention and he leaned in the doorway and smiled at the sight in front of him. Wilson was humming to himself as he cooked and House could smell the pancakes he liked so much.

He pushed himself off the doorway and limped into the room, coming up behind Wilson and wrapping his arms around his lover's waist.

"Dammit, House!" Wilson gasped even as he leaned back into House's embrace. "I didn't hear you."

"You were busy," House said with amusement. He nuzzled the back of Wilson's neck then gently bit down.

Wilson drew in a sharp breath and his head fell forward, allowing House better access.

"You like that," House murmured as he licked where he'd just bitten.

"Yes," Wilson said, his voice just a fraction ragged.

House pulled Wilson a bit closer then wrapped his hand around Wilson's where it was clutching the frying pan. He shifted the pain over to the bench and turned off the stove. While he was doing this, his other had had slid down to rub over Wilson's growing erection.

"Bed," House murmured into Wilson's ear.

"Mmm," Wilson agreed, pushing into House's hand.

House grinned then abruptly stepped away. Wilson made a small noise of protest and quickly caught himself against the bench. He gave House a frustrated look and House laughed.

"Bed," House said firmly. "You can make me breakfast later."

"It'll be lunch by then," Wilson replied as he walked towards House.

"I don't think I'll care," House said as he awkwardly backed away then turned and headed for the bedroom.

Wilson followed him as closely as possible, his hands busy caressing and clutching. Once they got back to the bedroom, House pulled Wilson past him and pushed him down onto the bed.

"Much better," he said with satisfaction as he followed his lover.


	212. Ignorant

**072. Ignorant**

Peeling Back The Layers

There is a fundamental difference between someone who is ignorant and someone who is stupid. Ignorance is something that can be corrected with education while stupidity is incurable.

House could tolerate the ignorant...presuming of course that they were willing to correct their ignorance. But he couldn't _stand_ the stupid. Unfortunately he seemed to end up dealing with the stupid far more than he did the ignorant. He always supposed that there were just far more stupid people in the world than ignorant ones.

He'd come to the conclusion that his fellows were ignorant but mostly interested in correcting that state. Wilson on the other hand was anything _but_ ignorant and he definitely wasn't stupid. In fact Wilson was almost sneakily intelligent. And he hid it behind layers of _niceness_ and _charm_ and people ended up underestimating him.

House did his best not to fall for the charm and the niceness and the deliberate underplaying of intelligence. He mostly succeeded but every now and then Wilson got him. He'd have gotten irritated about that but every time it happened Wilson got this quietly delighted look on his face that House found unaccountably charming and he always forgot about being irritated.

He'd never admit it but he liked being caught out by Wilson. Not that he ever willingly allowed it. If Wilson caught him out it was genuine and not because House had given him a hint. And that's why House _really_ liked it. Because Wilson was anything but ignorant or stupid.


	213. Fool

**This is the sequel to Upset.

* * *

****073. Fool**

He Never Shows His Feelings

House sat on the piano bench and stared down into the scotch in the glass in his hand with the most extreme case of self-loathing he'd ever indulged in. He'd made a fool of himself today and for once he had no one to blame but himself. He could only blame that fact that he was slightly unsettled by the self-revelation he'd had the previous night. He'd been off-balance and therefore susceptible to Wilson's demands. So he'd admitted what he felt for his best friend, not verbally but Wilson knew him well enough to read everything that had been in his face, and then he'd promptly _lost_ his best friend. _That_ was the reason he'd been driving everyone away during the day; he wanted enough time to figure out how to hide his sudden revelation. Unfortunately he hadn't had quite _enough_ time.

He drained his glass in one swift motion then grabbed the bottle and filled it up again. The movement sent sharp stabs of pain flying up from his leg so he picked up the small pill bottle and shook out a single white pill. After a moment's contemplation, he shook out another then he swallowed them both with a shot of scotch. He put the pill bottle and the glass back down on the piano and ran his hands over the keys, occasionally pressing one and letting the single notes echo through the room.

No Wilson to play for tonight. No Wilson ever again if the man's reaction was anything to go by. House's chest felt heavy and numb and he swallowed hard and closed his eyes. When he opened them he began the task of slowly building his walls up again. He had no choice, he had to work tomorrow, he had a patient to fix. He just didn't have a best friend anymore.

He slowly drank the glass of scotch and poured himself another, the buzz from the alcohol joining the drugs to white out his mind a little. He blinked and foggily decided to slow down on the scotch. It would do absolutely nothing for him to overdose right now.

He'd just made that decision when there was a knock at the door. He turned his head and stared at it before shrugging and turning back to the piano. The knocking came again and House ignored it with a vengeance, resting his head on his arms on the top of the piano. With any luck whoever it was would go away fairly soon.

When he heard the scratching sound of a key in the lock, House's head came up sharply. The only people who had keys to his apartment were his parents and…Wilson. And since his parents were safely ensconced in their own that only left one person…

"House?"

Wilson's voice was tentative and unsure, even a little frightened, and House frowned slightly but didn't answer.

He heard the door close then the sound of footsteps approaching him. They came to a halt just behind him then a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. House shuddered and tensed but the hand didn't move, it just tightened slightly.

"Greg…I'm sorry," Wilson said quietly, almost regretfully.

House felt something die inside his chest and he jerked his shoulder until Wilson let go.

"Apology accepted. Get out," he snarled, his shoulder hunching defensively.

Wilson sighed and House could picture him rubbing the back of his neck in his characteristic gesture. Then once again, Wilson proved that he truly did own a House decoder ring.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said, still in that quiet voice. "I'd…never thought about it. Well…I'd _thought_ about it but not for a long time and never about you. I…never thought you'd…be interested in me…in that way."

House froze; he knew what that _sounded_ like but after today he wasn't prepared to trust his instincts.

Wilson sighed again at his lack of response. "Greg, please, at least look at me."

House shook his head and his defensive posture increased. He heard Wilson sigh for a third time.

"Damn stubborn bastard," Wilson muttered.

House almost gasped when he felt _warmth_ plastered to his back then he _did_ gasp when wet heat engulfed his earlobe. He leaned back into the warmth and tilted his head back, making a sound he would deny to his dying breath was a whimper. The wet heat left his earlobe and he heard a soft chuckle in his ear.

"Thought that might get your attention," Wilson murmured with a smug satisfaction that House couldn't help but like.

House slowly turned on the bench seat, Wilson shifting with him then neatly inserting himself between his legs. He seemed just as smugly satisfied with that manoeuvre as he was with House's reaction just before.

By this stage House had managed to get his brain working past the drugs, the alcohol and the sudden squall of lust that had accompanied Wilson's action.

"You walked out," he said sharply.

Wilson had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "I know. I'm sorry. You startled me. You know I don't always react well when I'm startled. I need to think and it wasn't until I had that I realised how that must have looked to you." He smiled, a mix of warmth, apology and lust. "I just never expected you to…feel that way."

House scowled and looked past Wilson. "Still don't know what you want," he said in rather petulant tones.

Wilson gave another sigh, this one definitely an exasperated one. "I would have thought that was obvious."

House shrugged almost sullenly and he could see Wilson roll his eyes.

"Stubborn, impossible bastard," Wilson muttered before he leaned in and kissed House.

House froze for a moment then the reality of the situation sank in. He buried a hand in Wilson's hair, gripping tight and pulling the man closer before he took control of the kiss. He ran his tongue along Wilson's bottom lip, humming his approval when Wilson opened up to him. He then did his best to plunder the other man's mouth, tasting, _owning_, trying to ensure that this was _his_ and his alone. Wilson didn't fight him. He moaned into the kiss and plastered himself to House's body as best as he could, burying one hand in House's hair and clutching at his shoulders with the other. In turn House let his free hand slide down until he was cupping Wilson's arse. He gave a small squeeze and smiled into the kiss when Wilson moaned and his hips bucked forward.

He pulled his lips away from Wilson's and gasped, "Bedroom."

"Yes," Wilson replied, his voice agreeably raspy.

Wilson stepped back then held one hand out. House eyed it for a moment, considered the amount of alcohol he'd already had then shrugged and grabbed the hand, letting Wilson pull him upright and then steady him. He lifted on hand and was surprised to see how unsteady it was. He gently caressed Wilson's cheek, smiling slightly when Wilson leaned into the touch. He let his hand run down Wilson's chest, stopping just at his belt.

Wilson looked at him with half-closed eyes. "You could keep going."

House smirked, feeling relatively normal for the first time since Wilson had walked out of his office.

"I could."

"Why don't you?" Wilson asked, as he did exactly what he wanted House to do.

House swallowed a moan as Wilson pressed the base of his hand into his erection. He grabbed at Wilson's wrist, holding it tightly.

"Bedroom," he repeated. "Bed. Very comfortable bed."

Wilson gave him a smile full of lust and desire then reached over for the cane leaning against the piano. He pressed it into House's hand then turned and started walking towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He stopped in the doorway and gave House an utterly ridiculous flirtatious look.

"Coming?"

House laughed. "I intend to."


	214. Afraid

**074. Afraid**

Circles In My Mind

House lay on his back in his bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. His arms were wrapped around Wilson, who was curled into his side, his head on House's shoulder and one arm draped across his stomach, sleeping the sleep of the sated. For his part, House couldn't sleep. His thoughts were thrumming through his mind, chasing each other relentlessly, keeping him awake…and he knew why.

He was afraid.

Not something he'd admit to anyone in the cold light of day but now, in the middle of the night with shadows chasing themselves across the ceiling of his bedroom, he could admit it to himself.

He was afraid of the man lying in his arms. Or rather he was afraid of what the man lying in his arms would end up doing to him. Or what he might do to Wilson. It wasn't like either of them had the greatest track record when it came to relationships. That's if that was what you wanted to call this. He had no idea what had tipped things over the edge tonight. It wasn't as if they'd done anything differently tonight than any other night. Terrible movie on the TV, pizza, beer, nothing unusual about that. Then Wilson had gotten up and tripped over his cane.

House didn't know how that had happened. Wilson was usually very aware of where his cane and leg were and he couldn't remember the last time Wilson had made a mistake like that. Wilson had fallen towards him and House remembered the startled look on his face, the way Wilson tried to catch himself on the sofa so as not to fall on his leg and the way they ended up with one leg between House's and their faces so close to each other their noses were brushing. He couldn't remember who had made the first move. He remembered the scent of Wilson filling his nose, making him hard almost instantly. He remembered watching Wilson lick his lips and doing the same himself. It was entirely possible they had both moved at the same time, bridging the slight gap between them in unison.

The kiss had been tentative at first, just a brushing of lips as though they were both working out whether the other wanted this, whether they wanted it. The second kiss was more certain, deeper, a tangle of tongues, wet heat and desire. Wilson had shifted slightly, settling himself on the sofa in a more comfortable fashion, never separating their lips and pressing his thigh into House's erection. House had moaned into Wilson's mouth and the younger man had responded by deepening the kiss even further.

House shifted slightly as he remembered those kisses causing Wilson to murmur in his sleep. Hot, wet and carnal, they got his blood racing even now. They'd somehow staggered into the bedroom and stripped each other without much interruption to those kisses then Wilson had lain back on the bed and all but demanded to be fucked. Thankfully House had had condoms and something that could pass for lube because _that_ was something that he had no intention of refusing.

But all of that had been done in a haze of lust and want. Now he was calm and rational and thinking far more clearly than he really wanted to be. This had the potential to be a disaster and it wasn't as if he had such a plethora of friends that he could afford to lose one. But he could also admit to himself that this could be a _very_ good thing. Wilson had an extraordinary patience with him but at the same time, he had never hesitated to slap him down when it was needed. It was one of the things he valued about the man.

"Greg, stop thinking and go to sleep."

The sleepy murmur made him start and he looked down to see slitted brown eyes looking at him blearily.

"James…" he said a little helplessly.

"We'll talk in the morning," Wilson muttered. "But I want this, want you. Have for a while. Not going to give up on you that easily now when I never have before."

A tiny smile quirked the corner of House's mouth and he tightened his grip on his lover. Wilson murmured appreciatively and gently petted House's chest a few times before slipping into sleep again. House stared up at the ceiling for a moment longer then closed his eyes. If Wilson wasn't going to give up on him then the least he could do was return the favour.


	215. Prison

**075. Prison**

Caged

Sometimes House felt like he was living trapped in a prison of his own frailties. Trapped by his leg, his pain, his cane. Limited and restricted, only able to do so much and nothing more. Unable to walk without support, unable to run more than twenty feet without falling and even then paying a heavy price in pain. Trapped by his drug addiction, a cage of his own making to a large extent and one that he was unsure as to whether he wanted to escape or not.

The worst thing about this prison is that he knows what it is to live without it.

Some days his prison is unbearable and he lashes out, snarling and raging, driving everyone away so that he can lick his wounds in private. On those days only Wilson will venture near, ignoring the snarling and staying with him through it all, a silent, welcome presence, until he's ready to face the world again.

House doesn't know why Wilson stays; he can't understand it himself. He's rude, arrogant, sarcastic and generally uncaring of others' problems. He's ignored and belittled Wilson, dismissed his worries, cares and concerns before, he's even ignored Wilson when he'd wanted some consideration for his own problems.

He doesn't know why Wilson stays but he's absurdly grateful for it. And he won't question Wilson's motives or his own good fortune. Doing so might bring it all to an end…or worse, Wilson might actually tell him why and he's not sure he wants to know. He's prepared to let sleeping dogs lie on this one. After all, it's bad enough being trapped in his prison. He wouldn't want to do it alone.


	216. Sex

**076. Sex**

Change of Perspective

Wilson liked sex; anyone who knew him reasonably well wouldn't be surprised to hear that news. It had been the reason behind the collapse of two of his marriages after all. In some ways it had been the reason behind the _start_ of all of his marriages as well. Sex made him feel good…at least until the guilt set in…and he enjoyed it in many of its different forms. But while it was something he enjoyed, he'd never felt utterly in thrall to it. It had always just simply been something that was fun and enjoyable…and something he could discard as easily as it came by.

But now…now, sprawled on House's bed, with his legs draped over House's shoulders, House's cock plunging into his arse and House's hand jerking him off, he knew that everything he'd felt before was a pale shadow. Pleasure rushed through him, making him babble nonsense and curse and scream, making him close his eyes and writhe and arch into House's touch, making his brain melt into nothing. He opened his eyes in time to see House throw his head back as he came and the desire to see that again and again…to _make_ that happen…rushed through him.

House collapsed onto him with a pained grunt and Wilson wrapped his arms around his lover, tightening his grip when House tried to move. He could feel himself shaking and he was sure House could as well but he couldn't seem to stop and he couldn't find the words to explain it.

"You're too bony to be a comfortable mattress," House said after a moment. The words were surprisingly lacking in any rancour, sounding matter-of-fact, even slightly soothing.

Wilson nodded jerkily and loosened his grip, making a small whimper when House shifted onto the bed. The moment the other man had settled Wilson rolled over and curled up around him as best as he could, clutching him almost convulsively. He could feel the surprise rolling off House but to his surprise he didn't say anything for a long moment, simply embraced Wilson with a quiet sigh. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly gentle.

"James? What's with the limpet impression?"

Wilson swallowed hard and buried his face in House's neck. He shook his head then let out a breath that was almost a sob.

"I…never…that was…good," he stammered, not knowing how to say what he wanted.

"Good?" House said indignantly. "It looked a damn sight better than good. From where I was, it looked fucking amazing."

Wilson snorted a laugh at House's casual arrogance and felt himself start to relax inside.

"It was," he said with a quiet fervency.

"That's better," House said smugly.

Wilson chuckled but didn't move nor did House do anything to dislodge him. In fact House seemed remarkably indulgent right now, something Wilson intended to take advantage of. He had a whole new set of feelings and emotions to deal with, ones he hadn't expected, ones he was unsure if he wanted. But to deny the emotions was to deny what caused them…and after tonight, he didn't think he could do that.


	217. Hate

**077. Hate**

One Mistake

Wilson stood in the middle of House's office as House stared at him with hate in his eyes.

"Get out!"

The snarled order made Wilson flinch and he opened his mouth. The glare that was levelled at him made him shut his mouth again and he gave House a plaintive look. It had no effect, if anything the glare increased in its intensity.

"_Get out!_"

Wilson hunched his shoulders at the rage and hate in House's voice and slowly slinked out of the office. He spared one final glance through the glass and saw that House was facing away, looking out over the view, his shoulders tense. Wilson sighed and continued walking towards his office. Once inside he slumped down into his chair and scrubbed his face with one hand.

He didn't know why he'd done it. He was _happy_ with House, happy sharing his life, sharing his bed. But when the little brunette at the bar had smiled at him with what could _only_ be classed as a come-hither look on her face, he'd gone wandering over. He could blame the alcohol, he could blame a lot of things but it wouldn't be true. He hadn't been _that_ drunk. He'd made the decision to sleep with the girl on his own.

He'd woken this morning in a strange apartment, feeling hung over and then, once the realisation of what he'd done had sunk in, a growing sense of impending doom. The brunette had still been asleep as he'd quietly slipped out of her bed, gotten dressed and crept out of the apartment. House had been gone already by the time he got home and that had only increased the sense of trepidation.

He'd quickly showered and dressed then gone in to work to find that his little indiscretion was the central piece of gossip in the hospital. He'd overheard _three_ little globs of nurse talking about it on his way to his office and the trepidation grew once again. There was no way House could have missed this news and from the dirty looks the last group of nurses directed his way when they saw him, he was definitely being cast as the villain in this piece.

He'd dropped his bag off in his office and gone straight to House's office, hoping that perhaps his willingness to confess might smooth things over. He loved House; he didn't want to leave him. The first thing he'd noticed when he got to House's office was that his ducklings were conspicuous in their absence. The second thing he'd noticed had been the forbidding expression on House's face. He'd never had a chance to get his apology out; House had simply reminded him in a low, deadly tone of what he'd said when they'd first gone from friends to lovers. He would not accept Wilson cheating on him. Not at all. Not ever. No second chances.

He'd tried to explain but that was when House had looked at him with so much hate that he'd been struck dumb then ordered him out. Wilson rested his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. He didn't want this. Didn't want to be alone, didn't want to be without House but he had no idea how to fix this.


	218. Alarm

**This is the sequel to Prompt 077. Hate - One Mistake. I couldn't just leave it there after all!

* * *

****078. Alarm**

A Penitent Man

Wilson stared at the clock on the bedside table as the alarm shrilled through the room. He'd hardly slept a wink, something that was starting to become a pattern in the last few days. He could blame the unfamiliar and uncomfortable hotel bed but he knew that wasn't right. Guilt and despair were keeping him awake, loneliness was keeping him awake, the stretch of cold unfamiliar bed was keeping him awake.

It had been five days since his monumental fuck-up, since he'd spent the night with some nameless little brunette, cheating on House. House hadn't even let him back into the apartment since their confrontation in his office. He'd gone back there after work that night to find all of his things shoved into two suitcases and a couple of boxes in the small foyer between 221A and 221B. He'd felt some small shred of relief that House hadn't simply turfed everything out onto the street and had picked his things up and piled them in his car before heading for the nearest hotel.

But as bad as things were in this cold, impersonal hotel room, they were even worse during the day at the hospital. He had definitely been cast as the bad guy in this production. The one time he'd gone near the Diagnostic Medicine offices, he'd been glared at by Cameron, Chase and, much to his surprise, Foreman. He'd heard that House was in a particularly vicious mood but he had a feeling that House's mood wasn't the reason that the three young doctors weren't happy to see him. Cuddy was giving him looks of mingled disappointment and disapproval and damn if _that_ didn't make him feel like he was being reprimanded by the principal. Even the nurses had turned on him and he'd inadvertently discovered why the previous day when he'd overheard a group of them gossiping together. Apparently in the time that he and House had been lovers, House's mood had been…well, not _nice_, none of the women would admit to nice but they did admit his mood had _mellowed_. Oh, if you made a mistake he'd still rip your head off and shove it up your arse but the rest of the time he'd apparently been positively pleasant…for House anyway. But now House was back to his absolute worst and everyone was blaming Wilson…and not without reason.

Wilson slowly crawled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom with a great deal of reluctance. He was starting to hate getting up, to hate going to work, hate going to bed alone, hate _being_ alone. But the problem was he didn't know how to fix this, especially if House wasn't going to let him speak to him ever again. Normally he'd contemplate working through Cameron or Chase, maybe even Foreman, but as _they_ weren't speaking to him either at the moment, he honestly didn't know which way to turn.

Wilson showered, shaved and dressed without much enthusiasm and drove into the hospital, grabbing a coffee and a bagel on the way. Once there he quickly retreating to his office, hiding until it was time to see his patients. He pulled as much of his normal manner around himself as he could before he stepped into the first room. His patients had enough problems of their own, they certainly didn't care about his nor would they want to be burdened with them. He finished his rounds as quickly as he could then once again retreated to his office. He ducked inside without looking and closed the door, resting his forehead on the cool wood.

"Guilt has never been your best look."

Wilson spun around at the harsh comment and his jaw dropped when he saw House lounging in his chair behind the desk, idly twirling his cane.

"House," he said weakly, unable to find anything else to say.

He struggled to meet House's cool gaze but did so, knowing he deserved anything and everything his lover dished out. For a long moment House just stared at him then he scowled and looked away. He glanced back and swept Wilson's body with his gaze.

"You look like shit."

"You don't look much better," Wilson countered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. He was right too; House looked drawn and tired with enormous bags under his eyes and his stubble was longer than he normally allowed it to grow.

House scowled again but just seemed to be waiting for something. Wilson stared at him in the heavy silence until he suddenly realised what House wanted.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't know why I…it was stupid, I wasn't thinking…I didn't want to ruin _this_, what we have." He hesitated then decided that he might as well say it. "I…I love you."

House's expression remained neutral throughout all of this. But once Wilson was finished, it settled into an angry sneer.

"You have a funny way of showing it but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he snarled. "You loved your wives and did the same thing to them."

Wilson winced and swallowed hard; there was no way he could refute that. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, sure that he looked just as miserable as he felt.

"House…Greg, I…please, will you give me a second chance?"

He was almost begging by the end but he didn't care. He knew there was a saying that you don't know what you've got until it's gone and for the first time he truly understood what that meant. He spared a moment of shame that he'd never felt this way about his wives.

House stared at him in an unfriendly manner then he slumped in the seat, the end of his cane hitting the floor with a thud. For a moment he looked as weary and miserable as Wilson then he recovered somewhat.

"I want to," House admitted reluctantly and Wilson brightened a little in spite of the tone of voice then House continued. "But can I trust you?"

Wilson closed his eyes, wishing briefly for a time machine so he could go back to the bar and slap himself up the side of the head. He walked around his desk and crouched down in front of House, who had turned the chair to face him. Wilson reached out and placed one hand on House's knee, revelling in the warmth that bled through the denim.

"Yes," he said plainly, looking House in the eyes and hiding nothing. "Yes, you can trust me. If the last five days have taught me anything, it's that I…don't want to lose you. Not as a friend and definitely not as a lover." He gave a ragged sigh. "I've been lonely. I've _missed_ you, sarcasm, personal abuse and all. I hate that hotel and I want to come home."

A hint of uncertainty crawled across House's face then he slowly nodded.

"I've…missed you," House admitted with a brief scowl that made Wilson smile. "Come home. But if you…"

His voice trailed off but Wilson didn't need him to finish the sentence. He nodded and squeezed House's leg.

"I won't," he said firmly.

House gave him a long considering look then nodded. Wilson made the first move to stand up then gave a start as a hand wrapped itself around his tie and pulled him forward. He gave a yelp and caught himself on the chair in time to avoid falling on House's leg then he was being kissed. It was a harsh kiss, full of desperation and want, nipping teeth and bruised lips and, oh god, how he loved it. He leaned into the kiss and moaned, letting House deepen it, letting House take what he wanted, giving House everything.

The kiss finally ended with both of them panting for breath and Wilson let his forehead come to rest lightly against House's as one hand curled around the back of his lover's neck. House's hands were gripping his shirt and tie and neither of them seemed inclined to move in a hurry. Neither heard the tentative knock on the door or the sound of the door opening but they did hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. They separated slightly and looked over to the door to see Foreman standing there with an expression of mixed impatience, concern and, when he looked at Wilson, disapproval.

"We've got the test results back," he said awkwardly to House.

House nodded and shoved Wilson back lightly. "Move. You're standing in my light."

Wilson stepped back with a small smile. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of your vanity."

House pushed himself to his feet and Wilson stepped a bit further back. Before he could go too far, House grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close, staring at him soberly for a long moment then kissing him one more time. Wilson leaned into his lover and felt a large amount of the stress of the last few days melt away. They stayed like for a few minutes then House pushed him away again rather unceremoniously and started limping towards the door. Foreman was still standing there, his face neutral. He stepped aside to let his boss go through the door then waited for a moment as House walked away. The moment House was more or less out of earshot, Foreman glared at Wilson.

"Don't _ever_ fucking do that again," he hissed.

He didn't wait for Wilson to reply, just turned and stalked after House, slamming the door behind him. Wilson sank down into his chair and buried his face in his hands, hiding the tears of relief that may or may not have been welling in his eyes, Foreman's threat…for that was what it had been…ringing in his ears. He gave a laugh that was just on the verge of being hysterical. There was no chance of him repeating _this_ mistake but he doubted Foreman would listen to him right now. Still, House _had_ and that was all that mattered to him. Now he could go home.


	219. Genius

**079. Genius**

Keeping Secrets

Gregory House was a genius though this was not something he liked to either think about or acknowledge. He'd always learnt quickly and absorbed every lesson which had damn helpful considering the way they bumped around from base to base when he was a kid. He'd always been able to adjust to the new schools academically though the same could not always be said socially. He'd never been one to make friends easily, something that was always exacerbated by their constant shifting.

He'd always suspected he was a genius when he was younger but it had been hard to tell with the constant moving. His theory had always been that if wasn't a genius it would have been harder for him to keep up with his school work and get the grades that his father always seemed to expect. It wasn't until he got to college that he was actually able to answer the question to his own satisfaction. Staying in one place, able to settle in and devote his time to advancing his studies rather than constantly playing catch-up had shown him that not only was he a genius, he had a remarkable memory as well.

Both of these things served him well now. His memory and his genius meant that he could remember the symptoms of hundred of different diseases, syndromes and complaints. They allowed him to diagnose on the fly in the clinic and come up with different options with his real patients. They also allowed him to hide the fact that he was a genius with a great deal of ease. Oh, everyone acknowledged that he was intelligent but most thought his ability to come up with the correct diagnosis often without even seeing the patient was just luck and surreptitious searching in the medical texts without ever knowing it was because he was instead searching the huge repository of information in his own brain to find what fit the symptoms.

As far as he was aware, no one had ever seen through his façade. Cuddy certainly hadn't; he rather successfully distracted her with his occasionally juvenile and obnoxious behaviour and she never really bothered to look deeper as long as he eventually managed to heal his patients. His ducklings certainly hadn't worked it; in fact he was fairly sure they thought a lot of his successes were the result of guesswork and luck. More fool them; they eventually learn that expanding your knowledge and reading everything you could get your hands on was the only way to succeed in diagnostic medicine. But Wilson was the one he often wondered about. Most of the time he was sure he'd fooled his friend but every now and then Wilson would say or do something that made him think that Wilson knew. He'd occasionally thought about asking but if Wilson _didn't_ know that would just lead to question he didn't want to answer. In the end he decided it didn't matter. If Wilson _did_ know he seemed willing to keep House's secret and that was all he ultimately cared about.


	220. Negative

**080. Negative**

Holding on to Hope

Foreman walked into the Diagnostic Medicine conference room with a piece of paper in his hand and a grim expression on his face.

"Negative," he announced to no one in particular.

Cameron and Chase, who had suddenly pulled themselves upright with expectant, hopeful looks on their faces when Foreman had walked into the room, slumped in their chairs and Chase let his forehead fall onto the table with a thump.

"But…how can it be _negative_?" Cameron asked, sounding utterly bewildered. "All the symptoms fit."

"Maybe but the test was negative," Foreman said impatiently. "Doesn't matter if the symptoms fit. The test found nothing."

Chase raised his head, looking weary and a little lost. "So what do we do now?"

Cameron shrugged and looked as lost as Chase. Foreman scowled and stared down at the floor then he suddenly raised his head, a determined look on his face.

"We take the House approach. Test for everything that might be even a remote possibility," he said firmly.

"Isn't that a bit…random?" Chase asked with a frown.

"You have a better idea?" Foreman replied.

Chase sighed. "No, not really."

Foreman headed for the door and Chase and Cameron hurried after him. They walked down the corridor and came to a halt outside one of the rooms. They looked in through the glass and winced at the sight.

House was lying in the bed, unconscious and unmoving, with his stubble accentuating his pallor. He was hooked up to more machines than any of them were entirely comfortable with and Wilson was sitting next to the bed, one hand clutching House's and looking exhausted and more than a little frightened.

Foreman, Cameron and Chase paused to compose themselves then they walked into the room. Wilson looked up when they walked in, his expression one of hope. That was dashed when Foreman shook his head and Wilson let out s shuddering breath.

"What now?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"We try House's usual approach," Foreman said with more confidence than he was feeling. "Scattergun. Test for everything and anything."

Wilson smiled weakly. "Why not? Right now I'll try anything. Do it."

Foreman nodded and the three doctors gathered around House, drawing blood. Once they were finished Foreman gave Wilson and awkward smile before they hurried out of the room. Wilson didn't bother watching them go, he simply sat down next to House again and took the man's hand. They had been trained by House and in spite of the usual attitude House took, Wilson knew his friend was pleased with their progress. He had to trust them to know what they were doing since House was no longer able to help himself. He just had to hope.


	221. Flood

**081. Flood**

Noah's Work

House slowly opened his eyes, staring into the dark room and trying to figure out what had woken him. Wilson was a warm weight against his side and the pain in his leg had been reduced to a dull throb. He lay there, blinking sleepily then when he realised he couldn't hear anything unusual, he tightened his arms around Wilson a bit and slowly fell asleep with Wilson's indistinct sleeping murmurs in his ears.

When House woke again, sunlight was streaming in through the window and he frowned for a moment before turning his head to look at the clock. He blinked when he realised the face of the digital clock was dark and he swore quietly. He reached out and grabbed his watch off the bedside table, tilting it until he could read it. When he saw the time, he swore loudly and tossed the watch back on the bedside table before giving Wilson a shake.

"Whrr?" Wilson mumbled sleepily, showing no signs of moving in the near future.

"Get up. It's 9.30," House snapped, unceremoniously pushing Wilson off him and yanking the sheets back.

He got a sleepy protest for his actions then Wilson's eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly.

"What?"

"It's 9.30," House said acidly. "Looks like the power went out last night."

"Oh, crap," Wilson groused as he started untangling himself from the sheets.

House eyed him with amusement for a moment then slowly shifted his legs until he could put his feet on the floor. He froze instantly and slowly looked down.

"Fuck," he said after a moment of consideration.

"What?" Wilson asked absently as he shifted towards his side of the bed.

"I think I know why we have no power this morning," House said with disgust.

Wilson frowned and crawled back across the bed, leaning against House and wrapping one arm around his waist as he peered over the side of the bed.

"Huh," Wilson said with admirable calm. "That's something you don't see everyday."

House gave him a look of disgust then looked back down at the three inches of water his feet were sitting in. He opened his mouth to say something but as he did one of the cell phones on the bedside table started ringing. House picked it up then scowled as he answered it.

"What?" he snapped into the phone.

"House, if you're going to avoid working, I usually prefer it if you do so _at the hospital_," Cuddy said into his ear in impatient tones. "And to _not_ drag Wilson into your delinquency."

"For once it wasn't deliberate," House said, lifting one wet foot and watching the water drip off it. "My apartment looks like Noah's making a house call."

"House, what?" Cuddy said, sounding both confused and increasingly pissed.

"There's three inches of water in my bedroom," House said with profound disgust. "I'm presuming the rest of the place is in the same state. Not surprisingly, I have no power, my clock isn't working and my rubber ducky is floating out into the hallway."

There was a long, slightly baffled silence from the other end of the phone that made House smirk. Wilson slapped him on the shoulder, looking amused, and gingerly got out of bed, sloshing his way over to the dresser and pulling out a pair of boxers. Their clothes from the previous day were a soggy mess on the flooded floor. He then sloshed his way out of the bedroom.

By this stage, Cuddy had managed to get her brain working again.

"I…take it you're both going to need the day off then?"

"At least," House replied sourly.

"Well, let me know this afternoon if you need extra time," Cuddy replied, a hint of laughter now entering her voice.

"Whatever," House grumbled in reply then he hung up.

He put the phone back on the bedside table then grabbed his cane and followed Wilson's lead. He then limped out into the apartment and scowled as he saw the water that was slowly swirling around his living room, papers and assorted crap floating and turning in the lazy eddies.

"What the fuck happened?" he snarled as he limped over to Wilson.

His lover was standing in the doorway, talking with someone as water flowed over his feet. When House arrived the man outside, dressed as a workman, eyed them both with surprise then amusement.

"Water pipe burst last night," the workman said calmly. "The entire street's flooded. We're working to get the water stopped but we've hit a few problems. Once we stop the leak, the water should drain pretty quickly. I was just telling your…friend that the power's out because the water shorted the transformer down the street. That'll be sorted out once we stop the leak. We're expecting to have everything under control in about an hour."

With that the workman gave them a nod and headed back out. House watched him go with a scowl.

"Nice to see efficient work practices," he snapped.

Wilson snorted and closed the door with a bit of a shove. He raised an eyebrow at House.

"They'll be done when they're done. I take it Cuddy knows we probably won't be in today."

House glared down at the water swirling around their feet. "Yeah."

Wilson's smiled suddenly changed to something more heated. "Well, we've got an hour to kill before we can start cleaning this up. How 'bout we go back to bed?"

House raised an eyebrow, surprised at this. "You don't want to…do anything about this, Mr Anal Neat Freak?"

Wilson looked around and shrugged. "Not much point, is there? What's wet is wet and we can't really do much until the water drains. We can't go into work and we've got some time to kill before we can clean up. Why not…go back to bed?"

House slowly started to grin. "Just as long as we're not sleeping."

Wilson gave him a bland look that was completely ruined by the wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"I hadn't planned on it."

He then turned and started sloshing his way back to the bedroom. House ogled Wilson's arse as he followed and his grin widened.

"Cool."


	222. Bomb

**082. Bomb**

Things I Miss

Wilson was drunk. Very drunk. In fact he was fairly sure that absolutely shit-faced was a really good description of the state he was in right now. He'd feel vaguely guilty about that except that House was in much the same state and it was all his fault anyway. House had figured out what was wrong with his latest patient, saving her from a fairly unpleasant death, and her husband had thanked them by giving the Diagnostic Medicine department four cases of what had turned out to be very, very, _very_ good and surprisingly strong beer from a local microbrewery.

Wilson had been there to see the looks on not only House's face but also Foreman, Chase and Cameron's faces as they debated with themselves about the whole ethics thing attached to accepting gifts from patients. Chase, who it turned out had tried this beer before and deemed it the closest thing Americans could come to decent beer, was the first to break, pointing out in an artfully casual tone that technically the beer hadn't been given to them by a _patient_ and therefore they didn't _really_ need to return it. Cameron had then tentatively suggested that they might even offend the husband of their patient if they tried to return the beer and he'd really been very good about their usual method of treating a patient which as in many cases had actually made things a little worse before saving her life. So perhaps making him rethink how pleased he was probably wasn't a good idea.

When Foreman had then suggested that they should take the cases down the back stairs and bring their cars around to avoid Cuddy finding out, Wilson had looked over at House and had almost laughed at the proud look on his face. The smuggling of the beer had proceeded with almost military precision, ending with House smiling wickedly at him and inviting him over to taste-test some of his ill-gotten gains.

Which was how he had ended up slouched on House's sofa, in a state of being absolutely shit-faced, with House who was in a similar state and who was also staring at the bottle in his hands as though it held the secrets of the universe.

"You know what I miss the most?" House said suddenly.

Wilson blinked and tried to make sense of the question. He was fairly sure that they'd been talking about baseball in which case the question made no sense whatsoever since, as far as he knew, House had never played baseball. Of course it was entirely possible the conversation had veered into another topic where the question _did_ make sense; he just couldn't think what that topic might be in his current state of being shit-faced.

Finally he realised that House was waiting for his response.

"Uh, what?"

House sighed, a terribly sad little sound that made Wilson heart skip a beat for reasons he wasn't compos mentis enough to think about.

"I miss doing bombs."

Wilson frowned as he tried to make sense of that. His beer-addled brain couldn't find any context in which that statement actually worked.

"Huh?" he said, falling back on utter confusion in the hopes of an explanation that _did_ make sense.

"I miss doing bombs," House repeated, picking morosely at the label on his beer bottle. "You know, a running leap off the edge of the pool then…huge splash. I miss them. They were fun."

A slow smile grew on Wilson's face as he pictured House doing that. For some reason it wasn't a young House in his mental image but his friend as he was now. Then he frowned.

"Why _can't_ you do bombs?"

House's head swivelled a wobbly path from staring at his beer bottle to looking at Wilson. He had this adorable little hurt look on his face and Wilson's brain suddenly wobbled as he realised he actually _had_ used the word adorable in reference to House.

"Can't run," House said mournfully, looking as drunk as he sounded. "Not properly anyway. Even if I could, I can't get the proper lift-off. Need a real leg for that."

Wilson looked at the sad, mournful expression on House's face and he did two things that he would later blame on the beer though he would always do so with a smile. He reached over and gently rested his hand on House's ruined thigh, stroking it with a feather-light touch. Then he leaned in and nibbled lightly on House's pouty lower lip.

House froze when he did that and Wilson was just on the verge of pulling back and making some comment about the strength of the beer with the few remaining brain cells that weren't either inebriated or lustful or both when House suddenly _moved_ and pulled him into a kiss. Wilson went with it because the kiss was _good_ – hot, wet, sloppy and oh-so-good. When they finally pulled apart they were both gasping for breath but House had this look of amused chagrin on his face that confused Wilson.

"Too much beer," House said in explanation, something that confused Wilson and sent a thread of hurt spiralling through him until he realised that House was looking down at his crotch where there was a distinct lack of the usual result of a kiss like that.

Then Wilson looked down at his own crotch and realised that he was in the same state…or lack of a state as the case may be and he returned House's chagrined smile.

"You're right. Too much beer," Wilson said.

The smile he got from House was a mix of drunken pleasure and wicked amusement then House was lurching to his feet, swaying even more unsteadily than normal. Wilson staggered to his feet, intending to help him but changing his mind at the last minute when the room swirled around him. He didn't think he could help House right now. In fact he was fairly certain he'd make it worse.

"Bed," House said firmly, getting Wilson's attention again. "Sleep. Then, when we're sober, sex."

Wilson considered that for a moment as the room slowly stopped moving then he nodded. He liked that order of things.

"Yes. Good."

House gave him a sloppy smile then grabbed at his cane, taking three goes before his hand managed to close around the handle. He then staggered towards the bedroom, leaning a good deal more on the cane than was normal. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Wilson with a tiny frown.

"Bed. Sleep. Sex," he said firmly. "Needs you as well. Can't do it on my own."

Wilson gave House a silly smile and stumbled towards him. "Oh, yeah."

House's expression became something decidedly on the side of affectionate then he continued lurching his way towards the bedroom. Wilson followed and they both somehow managed to strip down to their boxers without killing themselves or each other. They collapsed onto the bed and closed their eyes as it threatened to take off. House yanked the sheets and blankets up and Wilson snuggled into House's side, burying his face in House's shoulder. House made a few grumpy noises in response but didn't try and shift him so Wilson settled himself in more comfortably.

"Sleep," House commanded as Wilson felt an arm slowly wrap itself around him.

"Mmm, sleep," he murmured as his eyes closed. "Then sex."

"Yeah," came the slurred response from House then the only sounds in the room were soft snores.


	223. Trap

**083. Trap**

Cornering House

Wilson stood in the doorway and eyed the figure in the kitchen with a determined expression. House had been evading him for the last three days and he was not going to let it go on any longer which was why he'd used his key for once instead of knocking on the door. House wasn't above ignoring the sound of knocking after all but he wouldn't be able to ignore Wilson if he was standing right in front of him. Wilson moved forward silently and before House could register the movement he was behind the other man, removing the cane from reach then trapping House between his arms against the bench.

"Wilson! What the fuck?" House said, turning with an irritated look on his face then rearing back slightly in surprise when he realised how close Wilson was.

"We need to talk," Wilson said firmly. "And you've been avoiding me."

House's face went blank and Wilson saw the shutters slam down in his eyes.

"There's nothing to talk about," House snapped, not meeting Wilson's gaze.

"You kissed me," Wilson stated in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, both seeing and feeling House's flinch. "And I kissed back. I think there's something worth talking about there."

House's lips twitched then his face hardened. "Then you left," he snapped. "I think that said it all."

Wilson gave an exasperated sigh. "I had an appointment, House. I was already late for it. You knew that. You were having your fun by making me even later when you kissed me."

House flinched again and looked over Wilson's shoulder, not saying anything.

Wilson sighed again then took a step closer, bringing their bodies into contact. He felt House tense and he moved his hands so that they were resting on House's hips. He then brought his head so close that their lips were almost brushing.

"You kissed me," he murmured. "And I _liked_ it. I want to do it again. A lot. And then I want to do more."

He saw House swallow hard at that and lick his lips. Wilson gasped as House's tongue nearly touched his lips as well and he closed the tiny gap between them. House stayed tense and unmoving for a moment then he suddenly relaxed and moved. His hands clenched in the back of Wilson's shirt and he practically moulded them together as he took possession of Wilson's mouth, greedily sucking on his lips, tongue, anything that came in the vicinity. Wilson moaned into the kiss, caressing House's sides and back in an encouraging manner and sliding one leg between House's to press their erections together.

When he did that, House broke away from the kiss and smothered his moan in Wilson's neck. He stayed there and Wilson could feel him shuddering so he gentled his caresses into something more soothing.

"House?" he asked gently.

"You realise this is a _phenomenally_ bad idea," House said, his voice slightly muffled.

"That has occurred to me," Wilson replied dryly. "But it also has the possibility to be a very _good_ idea."

"One of us is going to screw this up," House predicted, not moving from where he was.

"We haven't managed to screw up our friendship and I think we've both made some very good attempts at it over the years," Wilson pointed out.

"Yeah, but sex wasn't involved at that point."

Wilson snorted. "True but at least now we'll get the benefit of make-up sex."

He felt House smile into his neck and knew he'd won.

"I don't share," House said warningly. "And I know when you're lying."

"I know," Wilson said with equanimity. "It won't be a problem."

House raised his head at that, a sceptical expression that changed to one of surprise when he saw Wilson's face. He nodded and gave Wilson a surprisingly genuine smile.

"I kissed you."

Wilson returned the smile. "I know. I kissed you back."


	224. Celebrate

**084. Celebrate**

Surprise!

Foreman walked into the expensive restaurant and stood at the door, looking around uncertainly and feeling like a bit of an idiot. The restaurant's maitre d' came hurrying over and gave him a tiny bow.

"Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"Uh, I'm…meeting someone. I think the reservation is under the name James Wilson."

The maitre d's face brightened. "Ah, you're a member of Dr Wilson's party. Come with me, sir."

Foreman followed the man through the half-full restaurant and into a large private room in the back.

"Andre will take your drink order, sir," the maitre d' said with another bow then he left.

Foreman looked around the room and relaxed a little when he saw Cameron and Chase were already there, wearing expression that were as baffled as his own.

"Sir? What can I get you to drink?"

The question came from an impeccably dressed young man who waited with just the right amount of obsequiousness for Foreman's order. Foreman blinked then ordered a glass of red wine and the young man, presumably the Andre the maitre d' had mentioned, bowed and hurried out of the room.

After Andre had returned with his drink, Foreman wandered over and joined Chase and Cameron.

"Does anyone know what this is about?" he asked.

Chase shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"I have no idea but isn't this place terribly expensive?" Cameron said.

"You know what they say," Foreman said after taking a sip of his wine. "If you have to ask about the price, it's too expensive for you."

Cameron didn't get a chance to reply as Cuddy walked into the room. She joined them after getting her drink from Andre and Foreman was surprised to see that she looked as baffled at he did.

"I take it you don't know what this is about either," he said.

"No idea," Cuddy replied blithely. "But since I'm not paying, I'm going to enjoy myself no matter what it is."

Foreman snorted with amusement then his eyes widened when he saw who had just walked into the room. He heard Cuddy choking quietly beside him and Chase and Cameron's noises of surprise. Shortly they were joined by Stacy and Mark and there was a moment of awkward silence.

"I don't suppose any of you know what this is about?" Stacy asked.

"No idea," Cuddy replied with a small smile. "But James seemed adamant that I should be here. He left a message for me from wherever he and House have been on holiday to make sure I'd be able to make it."

She came to a sudden halt and her eyes widened as she saw who was walking into the room. A horrible suspicion started to flood into her mind as she started to put one and one together. She smiled into her wine glass as both House and Wilson's parents joined them.

The group made slightly baffled conversation for about half an hour before the sound of a snarking voice followed by a warm, laughing reply alerted them and they turned to face the door and House limped in followed by Wilson. House raised an eyebrow as he saw them all then he turned to Wilson.

"You did this, didn't you?"

Wilson's face was full of wicked amusement. "It's more fun this way. You get to see the looks on everyone's faces all at once. And we get it over and done with in one go."

House snorted and raked the group with a sardonic look. "At least you got a private room. This could get ugly."

"Greg, what's going on?" Blythe House asked, a look of slowly fading confusion and dawning comprehension on her face.

House shifted his sardonic look to Wilson. "You're the one with all the experience. You tell 'em."

Wilson rolled his eyes and stepped up next to House, deliberately taking his hand. He took a deep breath and House was the only one who knew he was trembling slightly.

"House and I have just got back from Canada. We got married."

There was a moment of utter silence as everyone took that in, more than one person glancing down at the identical gold rings on the left ring fingers of House and Wilson.

"Greg?" Blythe said tentatively.

House gave his mother a slightly exasperated look. "Yes, we got married. It's legal in Canada."

Underneath all of this, Foreman and Chase had exchanged glances that started off as incredulous then ended up as amused. Finally the two of them broke out into snickers.

"Er, congratulations," Chase said in a voice full of laughter.

"Yes…congratulations," Cuddy said, not far from being in the same state as Chase and Foreman.

"Thank you," Wilson said with poorly disguised relief.

"I take it this one's going to last?" Wilson's father said dryly, ignoring his wife's scandalised whisper of, "_David!_"

James smiled wryly. "Yes, Dad, I think it is."

"Good," David Wilson said with bemused satisfaction. "Does explain a lot."

Stacy suddenly giggled into the still slightly stunned atmosphere of the room and when every one looked at her she had one hand pressed over her mouth while slightly hysterical merriment danced in her eyes. When she realised everyone was staring at her, she lowered her hand and looked directly at House.

"You did say it," she said, her voice brimming with the same slightly hysterical laughter that was in her eyes. "I thought you were joking."

House blinked and looked slightly blank then he grinned at her as he recalled the conversation she was talking about. Everyone else looked at the two of them with confusion while Wilson chuckled softly. He then stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Look, I've arranged for dinner," he said quietly but firmly. "You are welcome to stay or go as you please."

He and House immediately headed over to the long table set up on the side of the room, turning their backs to the group and talking quietly together.

Cuddy watched them for a moment then turned to the others, a small smile on her face.

"I don't know about the rest of you but I'm not turning down a chance of an excellent meal I don't have to pay for _and_ an opportunity to mock the two of them."

She turned on her heel and headed for the table. Foreman and Chase immediately followed her along with Cameron after a moment's hesitation. Stacy looked at her husband and when he shrugged and smiled wryly they headed for the table as well.

The two sets of parents looked at each other. David and Rachel Wilson seemed surprised but accepting of their son's latest marriage and they nodded to the Houses before walking over towards the table Blythe looked surprised and amused while John House's expression was unreadable. Blythe looked up at her husband and raised an eyebrow.

"I am joining my son and son-in-law for dinner," she said firmly, giving him a challenging look.

John sighed and offered his arm to his wife. "He always has to be different."

Blythe laughed lightly. "Look at him, John. As much as he's trying to hide it, he's happy. Now smile. This is a celebration."

John snorted but did as his wife asked as they walked over to join the others.


	225. Old

**085. Old**

Aging is Inevitable

The staff at the nursing home had a tendency to brace themselves and metaphorically gird their loins before they went into Room 28. The old man who lived in there had one of the sharpest tongues they'd ever encountered and he never hesitated to unleash his brand of sardonic, sarcastic humour on whoever ventured into his domain, which considering he was confined to a wheelchair was quite a number of them. He also never failed to berate them thoroughly if he thought they made a mistake either and he'd even driven some of the younger volunteers from the room in tears on more then one occasion.

The staff tolerated the old man's foibles because in spite of his temper and sarcasm, he'd done them more than one good turn. He'd been a doctor once. None of them knew what kind of doctor, he'd never told them, but he certainly seemed to know a lot. He'd saved Mrs Kerry's life shortly after he arrived, telling the staff to get over to her a full minute before she collapsed with a heart attack and when it turned out that the only staff available were volunteers with the minimum of training, he'd talked them through how to do CPR. He'd done it with a fair leavening of sarcasm and condescension and with the distinct air of a man who'd much rather have shoved them aside and done it for himself but his instructions had been clear and concise and he'd kept the two young women calm and working until the nurses and paramedics arrived. He'd then completely shrugged off the thanks from the staff and Mrs Kerry herself, getting quite cranky when anyone persisted.

The female staff all agreed that he must have been quite handsome when he was younger though they also all agreed that he was still very distinguished. His eyes were a lovely shade of blue and his thinning, slightly curling hair was steel grey. The nurses reported that he had some kind of leg injury with associated chronic pain, which was why he was in the wheelchair but none of them knew the details of what had happened. None of them dared to ask; they all suspected that doing so would end up in a vitriolic rant that would have them emulating those unfortunate young volunteers.

Unlike many of their residents, the old man got quite a few visitors. It was sad really, how many of the old people in their care had been more or less dumped there by relatives who would then make obligatory visits maybe once a month and stay no longer than fifteen minutes. The old man was a glad exception to that rule. The most infrequent visitors were two women who visited every now and then, though never together.

One always called the old man House while he called her Cuddy and they'd snap and snark and banter with each other, with the old man making lewd and lascivious comments and the old woman laughing at them, much to the staff's surprise, and responding with tart comments that made the old man laugh in return. They always liked her visits because once she was gone the old man would be in a good mood for a while, his blue eyes alight with amusement. The staff had the impression that at one time the two of them had worked together.

The other old woman who visited called the old man Greg and those visits were always unpredictable and as such the staff were never entirely sure whether they were pleased to see her or not. Sometimes the two of them would spend their time talking quietly, seemingly reminiscing, laughing and poking fun at each other. Those were the good visits. They'd leave the old man mellow and smiling. But occasionally the visits weren't that good. The two of them would start arguing, quiet, hissing words, her eyes snapping angrily, his blazing. _Those_ visits always ended with the old man yelling at the woman to get out. Occasionally he'd try and get up from his wheelchair. He always failed and collapsed back into it, his face white with pain and taut with anger. The woman would storm out, leaving the staff to deal with the angry man though more than once they'd seen an old pain in his eyes after she left that had nothing to do with his leg.

There were others who visited. Three were regulars, in and out a few times a month. All three were around the same age and looked to be about twenty years younger than Dr House. They were all doctors and one at least was quite well known. Dr Foreman was a renowned neurologist, top of his field though word was that he was considering retirement. He was the most common visitor of this group of three. He and the old man had an odd relationship. There seemed to be a considerable amount of respect between the two but they still seemed to spend most of their time arguing and haranguing each other with what seemed to the staff to be the most shocking kind of personal abuse. Dr Foreman always left a variety of medical journals with Dr House with a mocking comment about keeping a senile mind busy that inevitably made the old man laugh.

The other two didn't come quite as often but they were still there at least a couple of times a month. One was a soft-spoken Australian called Dr Chase, the other a kind woman called Dr Cameron. Both seemed to have a similar relationship to the old man as Dr Foreman. There was always a great deal of what sounded like abuse that all of them seemed to find terribly amusing, as though it was an old game that they played. All three largely tended to leave Dr House in a good, if somewhat pensive, mood so they were welcomed with smiles and cheerful hellos.

But their favourite visitor was another old man, Dr James Wilson. He came nearly every second day. He looked to be about ten years younger than Dr House and he was still handsome in a surprisingly boyish way for such an old man. He always charmed the staff, particularly the women, which always led to Dr House making some particularly sarcastic remark. Dr Wilson never got fussed about it, he would just roll his eyes and, on the days when the weather was good, he'd insist on going outside. He would come in the morning and spend most of the day. For a long time the staff didn't understand why Dr Wilson came. The old man seemed to save up some of his most sarcastic and biting comments for the other man but Dr Wilson never got upset. Mostly he just rolled his eyes and sigh, sometimes he'd laugh and often he would give back as good as he got.

It wasn't until Dr House had been there for nearly a year and a half that the staff found out why Dr Wilson was such a good visitor. The two men were out in the garden, heads close and bantering loudly as one of the nurses approached with Dr House's medication. Dr House had just said something utterly scandalous about one of the women who visited, causing Dr Wilson to tilt his head back and laugh uproariously. Dr Wilson had then looked at Dr House with open affection on his face.

"I dare you to say that to her face," he'd said.

Dr House had grinned, an expression that made him look years younger and surprisingly mischievous.

"She may be getting on in years but she'd still got the best breasts I've ever seen. I told her that last week."

Dr Wilson had laughed again. "I miss that,' he'd said, suddenly pensive. "I miss you."

"You're here practically everyday," Dr House had said dryly. "Don't know how you manage to miss me."

Dr Wilson's smile had been gentle but tinged with wistfulness. "I meant at night. The bed's very empty without you hogging the sheets."

Dr House had snorted but the nurse had seen the same wistfulness on his face as well.

"You're the one who didn't want to move into a nursing home yet," the old man had said acidly, belying his expression. "And you can't lift me anymore."

Dr Wilson had rolled his eyes. "The only nursing home that had a double room was too far away for you. We've got first dibs on the first double room to open up here."

The nurse hadn't wanted to disturb them but medication schedules waited for no one. She'd taken several steps back then walked forward again, far more noisily than before, deliberately stepping on a stick. In spite of the fact that she'd been yelled at by Dr House just two days before, she had found herself quite charmed by the conversation between the two men and the revelation of their relationship.

The staff looked forward to Dr Wilson's visits. Although Dr House tended to be a bit snappish after the other man had left, he was still easier to deal with those nights.

But the best times came when Dr Wilson's visits coincided with the visits of Cuddy or Drs Foreman, Chase or Cameron. The trio and sometimes more, however it was constructed, would be loud and snarky, sarcastic comments and amusing banter flying back and forth until some of the other residents would complain about the noise. Dr House always seemed to be in his element at those times, arch and imperious, snide and amusing, sarcastic and droll, and the others seem to slip back into well-worn roles with a certain amount of delight.

It was the general consensus of the staff that the day that a double room came free and Dr Wilson moved in permanently was one of the best, most interesting and most irritating days they ever experienced. Dr House had been rude, annoying, sarcastic and constantly in the way and by the end of the day more than one member of staff had been willing to strangle him. They'd seen Dr Wilson eye the staff with an experienced weather eye and hustle Dr House into their new room, wheeling him inside in spite of all his protests. But even the most irritated of staff had softened when the two old men had been discovered later that evening when dinner was being served asleep in their new bed. Dr Wilson was lying on his back with Dr House curled up around him, one arm lying limp on his chest and his bad leg thrown over his lover's legs. Dr Wilson's arms were holding the older man tightly and both looked so content that no one had had the heart to wake them. They'd simply organised for two meals to be kept warm and left the two men alone.


	226. Disappear

**086. Disappear**

Finding Things In The Strangest Places

Wilson was neck deep in paperwork when his door suddenly opened and a very pissed-off Cuddy stormed in. He looked up in surprise as she stopped in front of his desk and leaned on it, her hands in fists, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. Unlike House, he dragged his eyes away from that view after the briefest of glances.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Wilson blinked, forgetting about the cleavage on display immediately. "Uh, who?"

"House!" Cuddy snapped. "Where is he?"

Wilson frowned. "Uh, I don't know. Have you checked his usual hiding places?"

"Of course I have," Cuddy snapped. "As far as I can determine, he's not in the hospital and he's not answering his phone at home or his cell phone and he hasn't answered any pages either."

The first sliver of worry began to wiggle its way through Wilson and he frowned.

"That's…unusual," he said slowly. "He might not answer his home phone but he usually answers his cell and responds to pages. It's not like him to completely disappear."

He got to his feet and had grabbed his suit coat before he really knew what he was doing.

"I'll go and look for him," he said tightly as he headed out the door.

"Tell him I want him in my office the moment he sets foot in the hospital," Cuddy yelled as he hurried away.

Wilson waved his hand in acknowledgement then concentrated on getting down to his car and over to House's apartment. He knocked on the door but when he didn't get an answer, he pulled out his key and let himself in. He was very determinedly _not_ thinking about finding House crumpled on the floor because he'd fallen because he'd drunk too much or worse…overdosed. He shoved the door open as soon as it was unlocked and almost ran into the apartment. He did a quick search through the place then, after a quick phone call to the hospital, a second much slower one and when he got back out into the living room, he was frowning and highly confused.

There was no sign of House in the apartment but there was also no sign that he'd gone anywhere. No clothes were missing other than what he might be wearing and his toiletries were still in the bathroom. He'd seen the corvette parked outside when he'd come in but…there had been no sign of the motorbike.

Wilson froze and paled then pulled his cell phone out, fumbling with it for a moment with his suddenly nerveless fingers before he managed to dial the number he was after.

"Lisa," he said in an utterly sober voice that stopped her burgeoning rant before it even began. "Can you call around the local hospitals please?"

"James? What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"He's not here," Wilson said with an eerie calm. "There's no sign that he's gone anywhere but his bike is gone."

"You think he's been in an accident?" Cuddy asked with alarm. "Surely he would have got the staff to call you? Or they would have found his wallet?"

"Not if he's unconscious or if he'd been robbed. There are a lot of possibilities," Wilson replied, stuttering to a stop as he found House's cell phone and pager. "Please just make the calls."

"Alright," Cuddy said then she hung up the phone.

Wilson stared down at House's phone and pager.

"Dammit, House. Where the hell are you?" he muttered as he waited. He didn't want to leave in case House came home from wherever the hell he was.

About half an hour later, his cell phone rang. He checked the number then answered it.

"Well?" he said.

"Nothing," Cuddy replied, now sounding worried. "None of the hospitals in the area reported anyone matching House's description being brought in during the last twenty four hours." She paused then continued dryly. "I also called the police. He hasn't been arrested either."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed. "Alright. I'll start checking some of his usual haunts though I can't imagine him going out to any of them without at least his cell phone."

"He hasn't got it?" Cuddy asked with surprise.

"No, it's here with his pager," Wilson replied. "On the brighter side, his wallet is missing so I assume he's got it with him."

"Well…keep in touch," Cuddy said, starting to sound worried. "I'll keep an eye out here in the hospital and get his team to search through periodically in case he sneaks in through a back way."

"Okay," Wilson replied as he hung up.

He scrounged around for a moment until he found a piece of paper and a pen then wrote a large note simply saying "CALL ME!" and left it where anyone coming in the door would see immediately. He then left the apartment and got into his car, mentally planning the best route to the various bars that he'd found House in over the years.

Two hours later he was frustrated and frantic. There had been no sign of House in any of the bars and no one had seen him, in some cases in years. He drove back to House's apartment and called Cuddy.

"No, no sign of him," she said wearily. "Chase, Cameron and Foreman have practically turned the hospital upside down. He's definitely not hiding here." She paused then continued tentatively. "James, maybe we need to call the police. Unless you saw him last night, it's been over twenty-four hours since anyone's seen him."

Wilson swallowed hard. "No, I didn't see him last night but…let me call his parents. It's…something of a long shot but he…might have gone there."

Cuddy sighed. "Alright but we're going to have to do something soon."

"I know," Wilson replied then he hung up and called House's parents, taking a deep breath as House's mother answered the phone.

"Blythe? It's James Wilson."

"Hello, James," Blythe House said warmly. "How are you?"

"Um, fine. Uh, Blythe, is…is Greg there?" he asked tentatively.

There was a moment of silence and when Blythe answered her voice sounded wary and worried.

"No. Should he be? James? What's going on?"

"He's…disappeared," Wilson replied helplessly. "No one's seen him since just after lunch yesterday. He didn't turn up to work this morning and he's left his cell phone and his pager in his apartment. Everything's still here but his motorbike is missing as well. We've been searching all day but he hasn't turned up anywhere. We've checked all the hospitals in the area."

"Oh," Blythe said, sounding a little stunned. "That's…that's not like him."

"I know," Wilson replied. "I was hoping he'd gone to see you for some reason."

"No, he's not here," Blythe stammered. "What are you going to do?"

Wilson swallowed hard. "I think we need to call the police. Put in a missing person report."

He heard the gasp at the other end of the phone. "Yes…yes, of course," Blythe said faintly. "You…you'll take care of that, won't you, James?"

"Of course," Wilson said as soothingly as he was able to manage. "And I'll keep in contact."

"Thank you," Blythe said weakly then they both hung up.

Wilson drew in a deep breath then let it out shakily. He was just about to leave to go to the police station when his cell phone rang again. He looked at the display and was surprised to see his parents' phone number listed.

"Hello?" he said.

"James. Thank goodness," his mother said with relief.

"Mom, what wrong?" Wilson asked, wondering what else could possibly have gone wrong now.

"Greg's here," his mother said with an odd note in her voice.

"What?" Wilson gasped.

"He turned up about…oh, three this morning," she said. "He was in quite a state. He wouldn't really tell me what was wrong, just rambled on rather incoherently about being stupid and making mistakes and hurting you. He didn't seem to be drunk or under the influence of anything and he finally dropped off to sleep about half past seven. He's still asleep and it didn't occur to me until just a few minutes ago that I ought to let you know he was here. Your father doesn't get back from his fishing trip until tomorrow and I had a couple of appointments this morning."

Wilson fumbled his way over to the couch and sat down.

"Thank god," he whispered, running one hand down his face.

"James? What's wrong?" his mother asked with concern.

"Nothing now," he said with relief. "House…didn't exactly let us know where he was going. We've been looking for him all day."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," his mother said with chagrin. "I didn't realise. I'd have called sooner if I'd thought that he'd run off without telling you."

"That's okay, Mom," Wilson said with a small smile. "Look, I'm going to come right over. Don't let him leave."

His mother snorted on the other end of the phone. "James dear, I'll be surprised if he wakes up before you get here. He looked exhausted when I opened the door last night."

"Yeah…well…he can surprise you at times," Wilson said dryly. "Just…keep him there."

"Alright," his mother said calmly. "I'll see you soon."

Wilson hung up and scrubbed his face with one hand before calling Cuddy and letting her know the good news. He was walking out the door as he called her and he asked her to call Blythe to tell her the good news. He then hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. He had no idea what had driven House to go to his parents' place but he intended to find out.


	227. Disease

**087. Disease**

Pitched Battle

House had always liked a good disease. Well, actually he'd always liked a rare, confusing and puzzling disease that stretched his mind and made him think outside the square. One that had strange symptoms or, even better, one that had symptoms common to any number of other diseases or medical problems so that you had sort the wheat from the chaff.

He liked the challenge. He liked the timeline – that ticking clock that hovered in the back of his mind, counting down the seconds of his patient's life and telling him how long he had to come up with an answer. Most of the time he beat that clock though many times it had been down to those last few final ticks. But not all of the time. But sometimes he lost, sometimes those seconds ticked away to nothing before he'd found the answer, sometimes death won a round leaving him frustrated and angry.

But now, for the first time in his life, House hated disease.

As he watched Wilson sweat and bleed and cry out in his fevered delirium, House hated the disease that had his friend in its clutches. This was worse than when Foreman was sick…much worse, a thousand times worse. Foreman was a colleague, maybe someone he kind of respected, but nothing more. Wilson was his friend, his only friend, his _best_ friend and…maybe more? That was thought he couldn't handle right now, shoving it as far down in his brain as he could so that he could think. So that he could win. Because he had to win this one, had to beat the clock this time. If he didn't…it didn't bear thinking about.


	228. Bathroom

**This is a sequel to Prompt 086. Disappear – Find Things In The Strangest Places**

**088. Bathroom**

Lost Things Found

Wilson was halfway to his parents' place when the first inkling of what might have set House off started to trickle through his brain. It was what his mother had reported of House's rambling that triggered it. House had spoken of being stupid, of making mistakes and of hurting Wilson. Wilson winced; he'd been avoiding House for the last couple of days as assiduously as House had been avoiding him, though not with _quite_ the same underlying reasons. This couldn't have been a sudden thing that had occurred; if House had been rambling then it must have been growing over the last few days until House finally broke and since he couldn't find his usual shelter with Wilson, he'd obviously gone to what he thought might be the next best thing.

And precisely four days ago, in the bathroom in House's apartment, he had kissed House. And House had pushed him away, thrown him out with harsh words and brutal hands. The only thing that had stopped Wilson from protesting and had made him give House the space he seemed to need was the memory of the moment when House had just _melted_ under his touch, returning the kiss with all the feeling that Wilson could have hoped for, before he'd suddenly stiffened and pulled away and reacted. The other thing that had made Wilson bide his time was the look he'd seen in House's eyes as he'd been thrown out. Underneath the anger and the harshness had been fear, almost terror, and Wilson could certainly understand _that_ reaction from House.

He pulled up in front of his parents' home and by the time he had gotten halfway up the path, his mother was standing in the open front door with a welcoming smile on her face. She hugged him when he reached her then stepped back so that he could enter.

"Greg's still asleep," she said in a quiet voice then she hesitated for a moment. "James…what he said…I wasn't sure what to make of it."

Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a wry smile on his face.

"Maybe if you tell me what he said, I can make some sense of it for you."

His mother gave him a piercing look then led the way into the living room. Once they were both seated she leaned forward and fixed her son in that piercing gaze again.

"He talked about hurting you," she said bluntly. "About making a mistake and rejecting you. He said something about being stupid, about not knowing what he wanted, what you wanted and not wanting to be hurt again. James, I know what it _sounded_ like."

"And that is?" Wilson said warily, unsure of how his mother was going to react.

"James, did you…" She broke off and looked down for a moment before looking back at her son. "Did you kiss him?"

"Yes, I did," Wilson said as calmly as he could manage.

His mother sat back and stared at him. "Why?"

Wilson sighed and ran a hand down his face, wondering how he could explain this in a way she would understand.

"Because I wanted to. Because I've wanted to for a long time. It was…difficult to admit that to myself but it's true. I…think I might be in love with him. It's…strange. I was so sure I was in love with each of my wives and look what happened there. I'm…not sure with House. It's…different."

His mother was silent for a long moment after he stuttered to a halt.

"And what does Greg think about this? It sounded like there was…a problem."

"He didn't react well when I kissed him," Wilson admitted. "But I _think_ it had more to do with his own internal demons than because he doesn't…feel _something_ for me."

"What makes you say that?" His mother looked concerned and Wilson got the distinct feeling she was feeling more protective of House than of him.

"He kissed back," Wilson replied. "And he was scared. He's got reason to not want to be hurt again. It's happened before and he was the one who paid the biggest price. He was…almost terrified underneath the anger."

His mother nodded slowly. "That would explain a great deal of what he said. What are you going to do?"

"Talk to him," Wilson replied. "I probably should have done it before but I wanted to give him time to think."

His mother was quiet again then she said, "I put him in your room. It was the only ground floor one and he…seemed to appreciate it."

Wilson smiled tightly and stood, heading for the door. He paused halfway there and looked back at his mother.

"You…don't mind? About me…wanting House?"

"I'll admit it's not what I expected," she replied. "But we raised the three of you to be your own men and to make your own decisions. I'd like to think we were successful at that, for good or ill."

Wilson was still for a moment, his own choices and those of his brothers swirling through his mind then he nodded and left the room. He walked along the corridor to the room that had been his when he was growing up. Not much was left in there now, what hadn't been discarded was either with him or in storage somewhere, but a few things remained. He quietly opened the door and crept into the room.

House was asleep on the bed, curled up on his side under the duvet. His sneakers and socks were near the end of the bed and his jeans were lying crumpled on the floor near them. His cane was propped up against the bedside table and there was the familiar orange bottle sitting on top of the table. House's face looked drawn and tired and a little lost even in sleep and Wilson swallowed hard against the sight. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, staring down at his friend then finally reaching out and brushing his hand across House's cheek.

House murmured in his sleep and moved towards Wilson a little. Wilson let his hand drift until he was gently stroking House's hair, letting himself have this liberty now since he had no idea what was going to happen when House woke. His thoughts drifted as he continued stroking House's hair and he stared off into the distance, not noticing when House slowly woke and opened his eyes.

He had no idea how long it had been when he looked down and saw that House's eyes were open, just barely, thin slits of blue visible staring up at him. He made to jerk his hand away but left it where it was when House whispered, "No."

After a few moments he slowly started caressing House's hair again and watched with a lump in his throat as House sighed and his eyes slid closed again. They didn't stay closed for long and this time when they opened, it was fully and House simply stared up at him, a blank wall blocking any hint of emotion.

"Mom called me," Wilson said quietly when he couldn't think of anything else to say. "She was worried about you."

House's lips twitched into the tiniest of smiles but he still didn't say anything.

"Come to think of it, _I_ was worried about you," Wilson said soberly.

An unreadable expression flitted across House's face too quickly for Wilson to determine what it was but the man remained silent.

"A lot of people were worried about you," Wilson continued quietly then he smiled wryly. "And…you owe your mother a call. When we realised you'd been missing for over twenty-four hours, we were going to call the police. I called your mother just to check whether maybe you'd gone there. She was…very worried. Thankfully Mom called me before we called the police."

House stayed silent for a long moment. "Didn't mean to worry you," he murmured in a barely audible voice.

Wilson sighed and moved his hand down to caress House's face. "I wish you'd come to me."

"You were my problem," House replied.

Wilson managed to avoid wincing at that. "Mom knows what happened," he said. "She'd mostly figured things out from what you said to her and I told her what happened. I think she was concerned about you than me."

That tiny smile returned to House's face. "Good."

Wilson chuckled then he sobered and let his hand come to rest on House's shoulder. "Have you come to any conclusions?"

House looked away and he tensed under Wilson's hand. Wilson gently rubbed his shoulder and hoped for the best.

"I didn't mean it," House finally said. "What I said to you. Didn't mean to kick you out. You just…I was…surprised."

"Well…I was a little surprised myself," Wilson admitted with a wry smile. "I've…wanted to kiss you for a while but I…didn't really plan on doing it right then and there."

"Why did you?" House asked.

Wilson gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't really know. Confluence of events, all that teasing we were doing, the beer we drank, the way you grinned at me. I just…really wanted to kiss you. So I did. I liked it. Up until the point when you threw me out anyway."

"It's a bad idea," House said wearily.

"What is?" Wilson asked.

"Us," House said. "You suck at relationships. I'm no better. You're…our friendship…matters. I don't want to lose that."

Wilson used his other hand to gently turned House's face so they were looking at each other.

"This is different," he said firmly. "I know it sounds trite to say that but it's…just different. And I think it's worth the risk."

"And if I don't?" House asked, his expression neutral.

Wilson didn't bother to hide how much that idea hurt. "Then we…go on as best as we can but I can't promise it won't change things."

House seemed to shut down at that but Wilson knew him well enough to know that he was thinking and thinking hard. Finally his eyes flickered momentarily and he looked up at Wilson intently. He slid one hand up Wilson's arm until he could grab his collar then he yanked him down into a hard, demanding kiss. Wilson made a small, desperate noise as his hand clutched at the shoulder of House's t-shirt and he leaned into the kiss.

House shifted onto his back without breaking the kiss, tugging Wilson towards him and down onto the bed until he was lying half on top of him on top of the duvet. House's arms then slid around him and held him tight as the kiss morphed into something hotter and wetter, their tongues tangling in their mouths. It was only when House's hips bucked up into his, grinding their erections together that Wilson pulled himself away, gasping for breath when he did so.

"Gotta stop," he gasped, letting his head fall onto House's shoulder.

House made a disgruntled sound and tugged gently on Wilson's hair. "Why?" he asked, his voice a lust-filled whine.

"Because my Mom is somewhere around and I am not having sex with her in the house," Wilson said with small laugh.

House succeeded in pulling Wilson into another of those hot, wet kisses and Wilson moaned before pulling away again with great reluctance.

"House, we can't," he protested without much heat. "If nothing else, my mother has alarmingly good instincts for when her sons are up to something in her house."

House looked like he wanted to protest but just as he opened his mouth there was a knock at the door.

"James? Greg? Is everything okay?"

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes as House slowly started to grin. Wilson felt his worry lift at the welcome sight of the humour glinting in House's eyes.

"We're…fine, Mom," he called as he tried to sit up but giving up when House held him tight.

"Alright then," she said, sounding just a little unconvinced but they heard her moving away nonetheless.

House started to laugh and Wilson scowled at him.

"I told you so," Wilson grumbled though a smile kept threatening to break through.

"Your mother's scarier than mine," House said in a lazy tone, his hands drifting down Wilson's back.

Wilson rolled his eyes then quickly moved out of House's grasp, standing up beside the bed.

"Come on," he said, holding one hand out. "Time to go home."

House gave him a long look then sat up, grabbing Wilson's hand and using to get to his feet then to pull Wilson up against him.

"Home sounds good," he said before leaning down and kissing Wilson again.


	229. Delirious

**089. Delirious**

Fever Talk

House sat in a chair beside Wilson's bed and buried his face in his hands. He was exhausted and his leg was aching as was his head. He was fairly sure he'd figured out what was wrong with his friend but only time would tell. He raised his head and looked over at Wilson. The man was still fevered and flushed, his breathing ragged and laboured. As House watched, Wilson's eyes flickered open, revealing fever-glazed brown. His head lolled on the pillow until he saw House then he blinked slowly.

"Greg," he said, his voice a quiet slur.

House relaxed a little. If Wilson was coherent enough to recognise him then the treatment must be working. He'd been completely incoherent and hadn't recognised anyone or anything the last few times he'd woken. He'd been rather panicky about that and if he hadn't been so weak, they would have had to put him in restraints.

"Hey," he said with a small smile.

Wilson blinked then smiled a loopy, goofy smile. "Pretty," he slurred.

House frowned then snorted. "You're delirious," he said with amusement.

"Mmm," Wilson hummed. "You're pretty. Pretty eyes."

House's eyebrows went up with that and he gleefully thought of the blackmail material this conversation had already provided. He leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on the bed, letting his aches and pains drift to the background.

"I've got pretty eyes, huh?" he said with a smirk.

"Very pretty," Wilson said, his voice still slurred. "Blue."

"Very good," House said with a mix of condescension and sarcasm then flinched as Wilson's eyes filled with tears.

When the sick man didn't say anything, just stared at him with the most ridiculously woebegone expression on his face, House scowled.

"What?" he snapped.

Wilson shook his head a tiny bit and curled up on himself a little, looking pathetic and sad. House scowled at him until it finally occurred to him that he was talking to a man who was very sick and fevered and expecting a sensible conversation or even a sensible reaction was asking a bit much. Hence the 'pretty' comments.

"Oh, fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Yes, my eyes are very pretty. Yes, my eyes are blue."

Wilson seemed to brighten at that and he looked back hopefully at House with a silly little smile. House looked at him then rolled his eyes again.

"You're really pathetic when you're sick," he said with exasperation. "Yes, your eyes are very pretty too. And they're brown by the way. Now go to sleep until you're normal again, will you?"

Wilson hummed happily, and a little deliriously, to himself as he curled up again and promptly fell asleep. House shook his head at the ridiculous conversation he'd just had and mentally filed it away in the 'things to tease Wilson about' file in his mind, firmly ignoring the feeling of relief that flowed through him that it looked like he'd actually be able to _use_ it as teasing material.


	230. Autumn

**090. Autumn**

Autumn Days

House hated the fall. It wasn't so much the season itself since the cooler weather was always welcome after the summer and watching the changing colours of the trees was a secret delight of his that he'd never admit. It was the _name_. Fall. For a man with a bum leg who needed a cane, _fall_ wasn't something he liked to think about too much.

He liked Chase's word for the season. Autumn. Nice and bland, nothing there to make him flinch and clutch his cane tighter. He was actually nice to Chase for a few days just to thank him for using that word. It made Chase suspicious which amused him. And it made Wilson glower which confused him at first. Then he saw that Wilson's glower wasn't directed at _him_ but at _Chase_ and then it made a whole lot of sense.

House blinked lazily as he wrapped his arm a bit tighter around the man sleeping in his arms and he stared out the window, watching the chill autumn…_autumn_, not fall…wind blow the multi-coloured leaves on the trees outside. He liked autumn.


	231. River

**Warning: Death Fic**

**091. River**

Steely Grey

Wilson stood on the banks of the river and hunched his shoulders against the bitter winter breeze. He stared down into the steel grey water bordered by dirty ice and didn't feel the tear that slid down his cheek. It had been a year. One long year since two policemen had arrived at the door to the apartment he shared with House to tell him that there had been an accident on this very bridge. That House had been thrown from his bike, striking his head on the concrete railing and falling into the frigid water of the river. The police said House had been unconscious when he hit the water and had never stood a chance. If he hadn't drowned, the head injury would probably have been sufficient to kill him.

The funeral had been small; just Wilson, his parents, House's parents, Cuddy, Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Stacy and Dylan Crandall. It had been brief and concise and Wilson had always felt that his lover would have liked it. He hadn't but that was understandable.

Life had gone on after that and Wilson had found himself somewhat resentful…and more than a little depressed. As the months had passed, the resentfulness had faded into a dull, heavy, helpless anger thick in his chest, made worse when the driver who had struck House had gotten nothing more than a slap on the wrist from the courts. But the depression had remained, hanging low and heavy around his neck, weighing him down, strangling him. He didn't sleep very well anymore and he knew he was quieter than he had been. Cuddy watched him carefully, kept dropping in to see him, kept making him eat lunch with her. But he was certain that she didn't see too deeply. She couldn't or she would never have let him be alone today of all days.

Wilson leaned against the cold concrete, letting it seep into his hands and spread the chill through his body. He looked around and saw that he was alone, very few people had ventured out into the biting cold of the day and those who had were in place other than here. He slowly pulled his long overcoat off and draped in carefully, almost primly, over the railing. He patted the pocket, nodding to himself as he heard the crinkle of the envelope that was in there.

He then climbed up onto the railing, sitting on it and staring unseeingly into the distance for a moment before he gave himself a push and fell. He hit the water with a splash, the sheer iciness of it yanking the breath from his lungs. He didn't struggle and he didn't try and regain the surface. He let the current pull him down and, as his vision slowly faded to black, he smiled.


	232. Relief

**092. Relief**

A Normal Day

Wilson looked up from the patient file he was writing in and sighed with relief. The lift doors had just opened and House was limping out into the corridor. He was carrying his helmet and looking almost…jaunty, his leather jacket open to reveal the black t-shirt he was wearing underneath.

Wilson had never let his friend know how relieved he was to see him arrive safely at the hospital or back at his apartment after he'd been riding that motorbike. And he never would. House was alarmingly like a child sometimes and if he knew exactly how much Wilson hated the motorbike, he'd ride it more and more recklessly just to get a reaction. And House rode the damn thing recklessly enough as it was.

He knew it wouldn't do any good to tell House _why_ he hated the damn bike. That he'd seen a good friend turn himself into a vegetable showponying on a motorcycle when they were both sixteen. That he still visited that friend a couple of time a year in the home he'd ended up in. That his friend never woke up, never did anything except breathe. That he lived in fear of House ending up the same way.

He was still staring at House when the older man turned around, seemingly aware of the eyes on him. He almost dropped his eyes to the file in his hands but House chose that moment to give him a cheerful, crooked smile.

"Hey, Wilson!" he bellowed, startling the others in the corridor and making Wilson roll his eyes almost automatically. "The ducklings have been stupid. Wanna come in and watch me yell at them? You can steal some of our coffee."

Wilson couldn't help the smile that grew on his face and he shrugged as he started walking towards his friend.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Excellent," House crowed, looking pleased.

He tossed his helmet at Wilson, who fumbled with his file as he caught the projectile. He scowled at House but it didn't seem to affect the other man. House just blithely turned and kept limping towards his office. Apparently the opportunity to yell at his team for their incompetence was what made the man cheery in the morning. He shook his head and tucked the file under his arm, following House into his office, where he dumped House's helmet on the armchair, and from there into the conference room where three very resigned-looking ducklings were sitting.

He got himself some coffee and leaned against the bench, watching House slathering his team with his normal brand of sarcasm, smiling into his coffee cup and letting his relief settle into its normal place.


	233. Silence

**093. Silence**

Sounds of Silence

The first thing Wilson noticed when he slowly opened his eyes was that he was in a hospital bed. The second thing he noticed was the utter silence in the room. He frowned at that, feeling the fuzz in his brain that was obviously caused by the IV snaking into his arm. He looked around and saw that he was connected to a heart monitor and a number of other machines and he _knew_ that those machines made noise. Quiet beeps but noise nonetheless. They should be making noise right now. He frowned and levered himself into a more upright position and looked around the room. His eyes widened a bit when he saw House sitting in a chair beside the bed, asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on the side of the bed.

"House?" he said softly then he stopped and drew in a sharp breath.

He _knew_ he'd said that word out loud but he had heard nothing. He swallowed hard and one hand crept up to touch his ear.

"Hello?" he said a bit louder this time but again he heard nothing.

House shifted and slowly raised his head, blinking blearily until he saw that Wilson was awake then he snapped into a sitting position so fast Wilson winced in sympathy for what that must have done to the muscles in House's back. House didn't seem to care, instead he grabbed for Wilson's hand and looked at him intently.

"James?" he said carefully.

Wilson frowned. He'd seen House's mouth form the word but once again he had heard nothing but silence. That fact overrode any thought he might have had as to why House had used his first name.

"House? What? I can't…hear," he stammered, his hand closing around House's in a fierce grip as panic started to rise within him.

House grabbed at both of his hands and held onto them tightly. It was just enough, just enough of a break in House's normal demeanour, to hold that panic at bay for a moment.

"It's the head injury," House said clearly, looking directly at Wilson so that he could hopefully work out what was being said. "They think it's due to the swelling. There's still some left but they think your hearing might return once the swelling goes."

Wilson blinked then a series of memories slowly came back to him. Visions of the accident; looking out the driver's side window to see the car coming right at him, the sound of the impact, pain, horrible, incessant pain then nothing. Waking up in the hospital, more pain, House and other doctors, being unable to hear anything they asked, panicking and the pain that resulted from that panic. Seeing House look helpless and slightly lost as he was taken away to the operating theatre.

Some of that helplessness was still present in House's eyes but when Wilson nodded slowly it began to fade. Then House untangled one hand and reached out to run a soft caress over Wilson's cheek.

Wilson's eyes widened. "House? What?" he said, hoping that he sounded confused and hopeful.

House's eyes flickered away. "Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone," he muttered.

Wilson frowned as he tried to work out what House had just said. When he did, his eyes widened and he hoped he was right. He sat up a bit more then winced and grunted as his body reminded him of the limitations he had right now. He collapsed back onto the bed and concentrated on his breathing as the pain slowly ebbed. When he opened his eyes again he found House watching him with a guarded expression.

He smiled slowly and beckoned House closer. "Come here," he murmured, hoping he was speaking clearly. He was fairly sure he was.

House gave him a slightly suspicious look then stood and moved forward, bracing himself against the bed. Wilson reached up and grabbed the back of House's head, determinedly ignoring both how weak his grip was and the pain that lanced briefly through his side as he pulled House down into a kiss. It wasn't a very good kiss; their mouths were slightly off-kilter and Wilson knew his mouth tasted like slightly medicinal crap but then House shifted their mouths into a better position and the kiss improved. House pulled away far too quickly for Wilson's liking but when the pain in his chest returned with a thud, he realised how utterly horrendous their timing was.

He couldn't help but laugh breathlessly, wondering how much he felt came from the drugs and how much came from what had just happened. He noticed House scowling at him and got his laughter under control.

"Timing _sucks_," he said.

House's scowl faded into a look of wry amusement then he caught Wilson's chin and made sure the injured man was looking directly at him.

"Get better," he said clearly so that Wilson would understand him. "I have plans."

The look in House's eyes was enough to have Wilson catching his breath then he flinched.

"What about?" Wilson couldn't finish the question and he shuddered.

House's hand tightened just a fraction, just enough to get Wilson's attention again.

"The plans don't need you to be able to hear," he said.

Wilson looked into House's face, at the message written in his eyes, then nodded slowly.

"Good plans," he said with a tiny smile.

House nodded and let Wilson's face go, returning to his chair with a wince. He gave Wilson a half-smile full of promise.

"Very good plans."


	234. Night

**This is a sequel to Prompt 093. Silence – The Sounds of Silence**

**094. Night**

By My Side

Wilson lay in his hospital bed and stared up at the ceiling. Although it was the middle of the night, the lights were on in his room. He'd asked the nurses to leave them on, not feeling comfortable in the dark while he was unable to hear. It made it difficult to sleep but between sleeping and being comfortable, right now he was going to choose comfort. Besides, House didn't mind sitting beside his bed while he slept; it got him out of work, after all.

It had been five days. Five very _long_ days while he waited to see if his hearing was going to come back. The last of the swelling in his brain had gone down two days ago but his hearing still hadn't returned and today the specialist had told him that if it hadn't come back by now, it probably wasn't going to. House had gotten angry at that news. Wilson had seen him snarling at the specialist as he lay numbly on the bed. He hadn't had the strength to get angry. All he could see was a future that seemed bleak and empty.

He'd withdrawn into himself after the specialist left, closing his eyes on House. He'd opened them with surprise when he'd felt the thump on his bed and had seen House limping out of the room. That sight had filled him with despair; at the time he'd seen it as House's abandonment of him. He'd felt like a bit of a fool when House had come back dragging…literally dragging by the arm…a rather exasperated Cuddy.

"Tell him he can keep his job," House had demanded, making sure to face Wilson so that he could follow the conversation.

Cuddy had looked blank for a moment then she frowned. "Of course he can," she said to House.

"Don't tell _me_," House had growled then pointed at Wilson. "Tell _him_."

Comprehension had dawned on Cuddy's face and she'd looked over at Wilson.

"You can keep your job," she'd said clearly. "You'll need to be trained in ASL and make sure you have continuing speech therapy, maybe also have a translator for dealing with patients, but no one is going to take your job."

Wilson hadn't been able to understand everything that Cuddy said but he'd caught enough. He'd sagged back in the bed with relief and watched as House let go of Cuddy's arm. She had seemed to make a few tart remarks to him but had smiled softly at Wilson before she left. House had watched her go then returned to his seat beside the bed.

"Stop worrying. Get better," House had said to him and Wilson had smiled wryly.

"Sorry. Just…" His voice had trailed off, unable to articulate what he meant.

House had seemed to understand though and his hand had closed around Wilson's wrist in a comforting grip. They'd sat there in silence for a long moment then House had grinned wickedly.

"I'll learn ASL with you," he'd said abruptly.

Wilson had frowned, unsure if he'd gotten that right. "You're going to learn ASL?"

"Of course," House had said with a roll of his eyes. "You're going to need someone to wave your hands at."

Wilson stared up at the ceiling and smiled to himself at the memory. House was making sure, in his own uniquely blunt way, that Wilson wasn't going to be alone in this. It was reassuring, if somewhat alarming, since he was sure that House was going to find even more way to get him into trouble now.


	235. Cry

**This is another in the "Sounds of Silence" series – a sequel to Prompts 093 and 094.**

**Note: Italics indicate signing**

**095. Cry**

Meet The Parents

His mother had cried.

Wilson had finally gotten the courage up to go and see his parents and tell them the news. He'd taken House along for moral support and for translation purposes, if necessary… and because he needed someone to drive him around now. They were five weeks into learning ASL… and he was ten days out of hospital… and House had mastered it a lot quicker than he had. In fact House had even come up with a system of bastardised signs since he found using sign language with a cane to be somewhat difficult. Wilson hadn't minded that; actually enjoyed the private language he and House had in a juvenile twelve year old kind of way.

He'd been putting off telling his parents what had happened. He'd had House tell them that he'd been in a small accident and that he was fine but that had been in the days when he still held out hope that his hearing might come back. He was now well past that time and had finally decided that he ought to come clean with his parents. House had reported that his parents had sounded confused but pleased when he'd called to let them know that they were coming on the weekend and Wilson had winced. They'd probably wanted to know why it was _House_ calling and not him but had been too polite to ask.

When they'd pulled up in front of his parents' home, Wilson had almost lost his nerve and told House to keep driving. He'd looked over to find House watching him with a mix of sardonic amusement and understanding.

_Are you joining the 'I hate visiting my parents' club now?_ House had signed with a smirk. _You get a free t-shirt and a lifetime supply of beer. You wear the t-shirt, I'll drink the beer._

Wilson had laughed at that and felt some of his nerves dissipate. Certainly enough to get out of the car and walk up to the door, House limping along beside him. They hadn't even gotten halfway to the door when it opened and his mother emerged, smiling delightedly.

There had been the usual round of hugs from his Mom and Dad and he knew they were saying something to him but without being able to see either their faces or House's hands, he was entirely lost. Finally House took charge of the situation, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the living room. His parents had followed, looking startled and confused. House had pushed him down onto the sofa and directed his parents to sit opposite. House had then sat down on the sofa and nudged him.

Wilson had swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists on his knees.

"I… um… I… was a little more badly injured in the crash than House told you," he stammered.

His parents had immediately shot frowning looks at House who had rolled his eyes.

"It's not House's fault," Wilson had said hastily. "I told him to say that. Mom, Dad… the accident has… I'm deaf."

His parents had looked utterly blank for a moment then his mother had started crying. His father immediately wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder and gave Wilson a look of concern.

"James, what are you talking about?"

Wilson hesitated then glanced over at House, almost pleading for his assistance. House sighed and gave him a put-upon look.

"The accident caused swelling on the brain," House said in a matter-of-fact tone, signing for Wilson's benefit as he did so. "This is the most likely cause of the hearing loss. We hoped that once the swelling subsided that his hearing would come back but it hasn't. It may never."

Wilson had the impression that it was the way House was signing more than his words that convinced his parents and then he had the dubious honour of watching his mother cry even harder. He scrambled to his feet and started walking hurriedly towards the back door. When the thump on the floor came, he paused in the doorway to the living room and hesitantly turned to look at House. Thumping the floor with his cane had become House's favourite way of getting his attention when he was too far away to poke and he had nothing to throw.

House was limping towards him, not saying anything, and Wilson turned and continued walking out into the back yard. He stopped in the middle of the yard and just slumped where he was standing, staring down at his shoes. He was aware of House standing next to him, leaning on his cane with both hands and just waiting.

"I don't know… if I can deal with this," Wilson murmured.

House's hands appeared in his field of vision and Wilson knew his cane would be propped against one hip.

_Give them time. It's a shock._

Wilson looked up and gave a small, rather wry smile. "_You're_ being understanding? Who are you and what have you done with House?"

House grinned and snickered. _Enjoy it. It's not going to last,_ he signed.

Wilson gave a small huff of laughter, all he could manage at the moment, and leaned against House. He felt the movement as House snorted then he was being drawn into an embrace. He went willingly, wanting the reassurance right now. They stayed like that for several minutes then Wilson suddenly felt House tense and turn his head. He winced into House's shoulder, not really wanting to deal with this and heard the rumble of House speaking. It wasn't until House poked him in the ribs that he looked over towards the house though he steadfastly refused to move.

His father was staring at them with a look of surprise and mild discomfort and, when he looked at House, his lover was staring back at his father defiantly.

"Dad?" Wilson said hesitantly.

His father stared at them for a moment longer then he sighed. "Your mother would like to speak to you."

Wilson frowned, not having quite caught that, and House freed one hand and used _their_ sign language to pass on the message. Wilson grimaced and nodded before reluctantly pulling away from House. They walked back to the house, his father watching them as they approached then leading the way back into the living room. They sat down on the sofa again and waited while Wilson's father sat down next to his wife. Wilson looked over at his mother and was relieved to see that she wasn't crying any more though her eyes were rimmed with red and she was clutching a tissue in one hand.

There was a moment where nobody spoke or moved then the questions began. House translated all of them though Wilson was able to pick up most through lip-reading. He still watched House's hands though, partly because House had a tendency to add little comments of his own that made him struggle not to laugh and partly because he just liked watching House's hands. Some of the questions were easy to answer but others were much, much harder and some he almost resented being asked but accepted when House pointed out that his parents were just being… parents.

Finally his mother seemed to be satisfied… upset but satisfied and she smiled at him. That was when his father decided to drop his bombshell.

"So how long have you and Greg been together?"

House paused before sighing and signing the question and Wilson winced. His mother stared at her husband then back at her son and House.

"James?" she said weakly. "What is your father talking about?"

_Tell the truth,_ House signed with a sour look on his face. _Better to get all the shocks over and done with. Besides they're more likely to let this slide right now because they're still in shock and feeling sorry for you._

_That's cynical_, he signed back.

House snorted and grinned briefly at him. _You are talking to me, you know._

Wilson gave a small laugh then looked over at his parents.

"Not long," he said in answer to his father's question, hoping his voice was as firm as he wanted it to be. It was hard to tell without being able to hear it. "Though I suppose in some ways the answer should be 'a long time'."

His father sighed and looked resigned and slightly discomforted but he was surprised to see a small, pleased smile break out on his mother's face.

_Your mother is a strange woman,_ House signed with a tiny half-smile on his face.

_I'd object but you're right_, Wilson replied with an answering smile.

"James, are you happy?" his mother asked quietly.

Wilson hadn't been looking at his mother but House had heard the question. He prodded Wilson in the ribs and signed the question before pointing at Wilson's mother.

Wilson looked over at his mother and smiled slightly. In spite of everything, he actually was happy. House wasn't letting him wallow in self-pity which he might have done otherwise, instead he was poking him and prodding and pushing him into dealing with what had happened and moving on. Wilson thought that attitude was somewhat ironic considering House's stubborn insistence on wallowing in his own pain but well… that was an issue to deal with when he had come to grips with own situation. He shook those thoughts from his mind and answered his mother's question.

"Yes, I am."

AN: I'm aware that the two of them are using words in their signing that might be considered advanced but, as I mentioned in my LJ, I kind of figured House would have been annoying the crap out of their teacher until he could learn the words he wanted to use rather than just waiting.


	236. Fair

**096. Fair**

That'll Do

"That's not fair!" House whined, trying not to sound like a four year old and failing miserably.

"Life isn't fair, Dr House," Cuddy said flatly. "You have two choices. You can either take leave voluntarily or I will put you on administrative leave. Either way you are not setting foot in this hospital for two weeks."

"What?" House protested. "Why?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House, you've been impossible for the last three weeks. You've driven Dr Cameron to tears three times in the last five days. Dr Chase has taken to hiding in the ER and Dr Foreman has threatened to either resign or strangle you and I'm not sure if he was serious on either score or not. I don't know what's wrong with you; I don't _want_ to know what's wrong. But you've got two weeks to sort it out. Now go back to your office, pack your bag and get out of here. If you're not gone in half an hour, I will have security remove you."

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave House an implacable glare. She kept that glare on her face as House whined and complained then she shifted her weight slightly and tapped her watch pointedly. House scowled her for a long moment but she didn't relent, he abruptly turned and limped out of the office. Cuddy watched him limp towards the lifts and gave a sigh of relief as she relaxed. She hadn't been entirely sure she was going to win that argument. Thankfully she had since the main thing this hospital needed right now was a lack of House. Foreman wasn't the only one making little voodoo models of the man and sticking pins into it. She sighed and walked back to her desk and sat down. As she picked up the phone, she kept an eye on her watch. She hadn't been kidding about the half hour time limit and she _would_ have security throw House out if it became necessary.

House stormed out of the lift as best as he could and headed for his office, his furious scowl making more than one person prudently leap out of his way. He yanked the door of his office open and limped inside, snatching up his bag and stuffing a few things inside. Once he was done he grabbed his cane and glanced towards the conference room where his ducklings were rather studiously _not_ looking at him. He was tempted to go in there and _really_ make their lives a misery but abruptly decided not to. He knew Cuddy well enough to know that she actually _was_ serious about the security thing and he wasn't in the mood to put himself through that kind of humiliation just for the hell of it.

He threw his bag over his shoulder and limped out of his office, slamming the door behind him so hard that the glass rattled. He limped back to the lifts and from there out of the hospital. When he got home, he hurled his bag into a corner and got a beer from the fridge before sitting down on the bench on front of the piano. He plunked the beer on the top of the piano and rubbed his forehead with one hand as he sighed wearily.

"You know this sort of thing wouldn't happen if you could just learn to say 'I'm sorry', even if it isn't with words," Wilson said, his voice a mix of exasperation, weariness and wry amusement.

House gave a start and turned on the piano bench. Wilson was leaning in the doorway that lead to his bedroom and his face and body language reflected what was in his voice.

"A bit hard when you keep avoiding me," House said harshly, swallowing his urge to just limp over and shove Wilson against the wall and kiss him until they both forgot about what had happened.

Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said at the end of the sigh. "But you've never had trouble finding me whenever you've really wanted to."

House shrugged and stared down at his shoes. Silence fell in the room for a moment then he looked back over at Wilson. He grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet, limping over to the other side of the room. He gently shoved Wilson against the wall and leaned in, pressing his entire body against his lover's before capturing Wilson's mouth with his own. He gently nibbled on Wilson's bottom lip then licked it before pulling back and resting his forehead against Wilson's shoulder.

"Will that do?" he said, his exhaustion from days of frustration and anger and lack of sleep starting to show through.

He felt Wilson's hands come up and start gently stroking his back then Wilson said softly, "Yeah, that'll do."


	237. Allergy

**097. Allergy**

Sometimes You Lose

House came storming into Wilson's office and flopped down on the sofa, tapping his cane on the floor sullenly. Wilson looked up from the paperwork he was doing and raised an eyebrow, a tiny smile growing on his face.

"5.8. 5.9. 6.0 from the East German judge. A truly remarkable performance," he murmured, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

A smile flickered across House's face then he promptly scowled again and tapped his cane against the floor even harder.

Wilson put his pen down and rested his arms on his desk.

"Alright, I'll bite," he said, his amusement more open. "What's wrong?"

House slumped even further on the couch and almost pouted as he glared at the floor.

"It was an allergy," he muttered.

Wilson quickly smothered his smile before House could catch him.

"So Foreman was right then," he observed mildly.

The scowl came right on cue and Wilson somehow managed to simply look interested and slightly innocent.

"I thought you'd be pleased," Wilson said when House continued to sulk. "I thought the whole of idea of having Fellows was to ensure they learnt something. You know, became competent doctors."

He knew he was essentially poking a wounded bear but he was fairly confident that House wouldn't do anything too permanent to him.

"You want to go back to sleeping on the sofa?" House said belligerently.

Wilson simply raised an eyebrow. "You'd really cut your own nose off to spite your face?"

"Maybe I like my face spited," House growled.

"Uhuh," Wilson said with patent disbelief. "So what did you lose in the bet?"

House grumbled under his breath and scowled at the floor again.

"He gets to take the lead on our next case," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Wilson asked, not entirely sure he'd heard that correctly.

"I said he gets to take the lead on our next case," House said acidly, enunciating each word with a sour sneer.

Wilson quickly turned his laugh into a cough when House glared at him.

"You were that sure?" he said, his lips quivering with the suppressing laugh.

House grumbled under his breath again and Wilson closed the file on his desk and got to his feet. He grabbed his suit coat and walked around to stand in front of House.

"Come on," he said with a small smile. "I'll take you home and blow your mind. Maybe that'll make it all seem a bit better."

Another smile flickered across House's face and he slowly pushed himself to his feet.

"You never know. It might help," he said as he followed Wilson out of the office.


	238. Table

**098. Table**

Cracking Up

There was a crack in the glass table in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room. It wasn't a very big crack, in fact it was barely visible from most angles, but Wilson's eyes always found it every time he walked into the room. He always saw it and he always blushed. Because he knew how that crack got there and he was very, _very_ sure that House's Fellows would _not_ want to know about it. Because if they did, they'd probably want to know how it got there and there was no way on God's green earth that Wilson was going to tell them.

He'd known it was a bad idea when House suggested it but the combination of the lust-filled look House had given him, his own perverse little fantasies about semi-public sex and the hand that had been groping his crotch had reduced his objections to a dull murmur in the back of his mind. He'd made sure the blinds had been drawn and the doors locked before they started but he hadn't really taken into account the fact that a glass-topped table might not be the best place for indulging in what might be termed a strenuous activity.

He hadn't noticed the crack until he'd been cleaning the table, erasing the obvious evidence of what he and House had just done. He'd been half-distracted by the pleasurable ache in his arse and the lazy, languid but still snarky comments House was making from where he was sprawled in a chair and had nearly missed it. But he'd caught sight of the crack out of the corner of his eye and frozen. He knew it hadn't been there before they started but he hadn't heard anything while they were… busy. But there it was, running along the middle of the table for about four inches. He's taken a deep breath and stepped back, noticing absently that it wasn't so obvious when you weren't leaning over the table and looking down directly at it.

House had noticed his sudden distraction but when he'd been told, he'd just laughed, made a few lewd remarks and dismissed it. But Wilson wasn't able to do that… particularly when he noticed Foreman suddenly stare hard at the table and frown thoughtfully.


	239. Early

**This is another one in the "Sounds of Silence" series**

**099. Early**

Ruminations

Wilson woke slowly, smiling with his eyes still closed at the warm weight against his back and the arm that was wrapped around his waist. He could feel House's soft breaths on the back of his neck and he was sorely tempted just to drift back to sleep. He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock in the early morning light. Seeing that it was not all that long until he would normally get up, he carefully slid out of House's embrace, turning just in time to see the other man's sleepy murmur even though he couldn't hear it.

Wilson walked over to the window and leaned against the frame, looking out into the street for a moment then turning to watch House. His lover had taken the opportunity to sprawl over into the warmth he'd created and Wilson smiled almost involuntarily.

The last couple of months had been in turns painful, difficult, exhausting, depressing and miserable. But they'd also been challenging, full of achievement and at time utterly hilarious. He tended to blame the accident for the first set of adjectives and give House the credit for the second set. Not that House had been overly different from his usual snarky, sarcastic attitude; it's just that he'd somehow made it easier to adjust to being deaf in the middle of all of that.

Wilson's favourite thing, which many people wouldn't expect of him, was the bastardised one-handed version of sign language that House had worked out. It was kind of a work in progress since they always had to come up with new signs as their vocabulary expanded. House had been driving their teacher to distraction, wanting to know the signs for various words. The teacher kept insisting that they would get to those words in time and that the basics should be learnt first but House would just keep whining…and how he could manage to whine in sign language was beyond Wilson's understanding…until he got his own way. But what made their private sign language so much fun was that no one else could understand it. Even those who knew ASL were baffled by what they were saying.

It was kind of like being twelve again…not that he'd ever been that devious at that age. They had their own secret language that they could use under everyone's noses to make each other laugh and, in his case, blush. It was certainly driving Cuddy up the wall. Just the other day they'd driven her to distraction and it had had that naughty feeling of getting one up on the principal about it.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by the sight of House shifting on the bed as he woke, one hand stretching out and searching for something. The lack of what he was searching for woke him more fully and he shifted onto his side before catching sight of Wilson standing near the window.

"Exhibitionist," he said clearly as he gave a small half-smile.

Wilson caught that word and laughed. "You're complaining?"

House's smile became more genuine. _No,_ he signed one-handed. _Come back to bed._

Wilson shook his head. "We have to get up soon anyway."

House raised an eyebrow. _Come back to bed._

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why?"

House's smile became decidedly wicked. _I'll make it worth your while._

Recent experience caused Wilson's dick to twitch at that smile and the subsequent widening of the smile told him that House had seen it. Wilson surrendered at that point since he was certain arguing was not only pointless but also would fall into the category of cutting of his nose to spite his face.

"Well, if you insist," he said casually as he sauntered back towards the bed.

House shifted onto his back and watched with interest, desire and amusement in his eyes.

_You never used to be this easy to convince,_ he signed before he grabbed Wilson's wrist and pulled him down onto the bed.

Wilson went with it, catching himself on one hand so that he didn't fall onto House's thigh, then he freed one hand and signed back with a grin that matched his lover's.

_You never gave me a reason as good as this._

AN: If you want to see the tiny little scene (that was written by the lovely pinglederry) in which House and Wilson drive Cuddy to distraction go here: http://swordkat. 


	240. Criminal

**100. Criminal**

Jailbird

House sat on the floor in the corner of the holding cell and tapped his cane against the concrete floor. His expression was one of sour disgust and his gaze occasionally flickered to two of the other holding cells where two men were lying on their backs in drunken stupors, snoring loudly.

"House?"

House looked up at the sound of Wilson's voice and saw his friend standing outside the cell, looking at him with confusion and vague disapproval.

"Don't start," House snapped, levering himself to his feet with a pained grunt. "This is _not_ my fault. Just get me out of here."

"Uh, they won't let me," Wilson said, his confusion growing. "They said they were waiting for a fax from Los Angeles. House? What's going on?"

House's sour expression grew as he limped over to the bars.

"Dumb and Dumber over there started a fight in a bar," he growled, gesturing with his thumb towards the two sleeping men.

"You got involved in a fight," Wilson said with flat disapproval.

"Of course not," House said with a glare. "Do I look like I was involved in a fight?" Wilson opened his mouth to answer but House just kept going. "When the police arrived, one of them took one look at me and arrested me. They think I'm some kind of criminal from Los Angeles."

Wilson blinked. "They what? You're joking, aren't you?"

House's scowl became incendiary. "Do I _look_ like I'm joking?" he snarled, gesturing to the holding cell with his free hand.

"Ah, okay," Wilson said soothingly. "I'll just…go and speak to the detective who directed me here. I'm sure I can get this sorted out."

"You'd better," House said sourly.

Wilson thought better of answering that and walked back down the corridor. House limped back to where he'd been sitting and slowly lowered himself to the floor again. They'd taken everything in his pockets, including his Vicodin, and the alcohol he'd drunk had long ago worn off. The pain in his leg was starting to overwhelm him and he just wanted to get out of here before he did something to _really_ earn a night in a cell.

He sat there on the floor, tapping his cane on the concrete and unconsciously clenching and unclenching his other hand, for nearly half an hour before Wilson finally came back. This time he was accompanied by a policeman who unlocked the door of the cell then eyed him curiously when he didn't get up.

"House? Come on," Wilson said with a frown. "The fax came through and it's pretty damn obvious the man they're looking for isn't you. Let's get out of here."

House scowled down at his shoes and muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Wilson asked.

House's scowl deepened and he glared at Wilson with a mix of anger, frustration and helplessness.

"I don't know if I can get up," he said acidly. "They took _everything_ out of my pockets and I've been here for _quite a while_."

It took a moment for that to sink in then Wilson's eyes widened. He turned to the policeman who was still standing them, watching them both like they were the most interesting thing he'd encountered that evening.

"Get his things," Wilson snapped in a voice House had only heard him use during emergencies at the hospital.

House was marginally amused to see the cop snap into action as smartly as Wilson's nurses. The moment the cop disappeared, Wilson walked into the cell and crouched down next to House.

"If I offer to help you, are you actually going to accept it for once in your life or are you going to be your usual pig-headed, stupid, stubborn self?" he said with exasperation.

"You're such a sweet-talker," House griped. "No wonder you get all the women."

He hesitated for a moment then reluctantly held out one hand. He'd much rather have gotten to his feet on his own but he really didn't want to wait for the stupid cop to get back with his things and then wait for the damn pill to kick in. Besides, the cold concrete floor was probably going to give him piles if he sat here for too much longer.

Wilson gave him a small smile then stood up and took the pro-offered hand. Between the two of them, they got House to his feet and leaning back against the wall. House hung his head as pain rippled through him from his thigh and he eased all of his weight onto his good leg, clutching his cane tightly with one hand and Wilson's arm with the other.

"Uh, what were you after? Or should I get a doctor?"

They both looked up to see the cop standing in the doorway, a brown paper bag in his hand and a slightly startled look on his face as he saw the amount of pain House was in.

"We are doctors," Wilson snapped. "Give me that."

He gently extricated himself from House's grasp and grabbed the bag, reaching in and pulling out the small orange bottle. He opened it and shook out a pill before hesitating and evaluating House for a moment. He then shook out a second and offered them to his friend.

House gave Wilson a long look. "Two, Dr Wilson?" he said sardonically.

"I don't like it but you're not going to make it out of here upright any other way," Wilson said, his lips thinning with disapproval.

House conceded the point with a snort. He reached out and grabbed the pills, dry-swallowing them then leaning back against the wall as he waited desperately for them to kick in. It took nearly twenty minutes before he felt the first easing of the pain rippling through him and he looked up and nodded briefly to Wilson. His friend had spent the entire time watching him, standing absolutely still in stark contrast to the young cop who was still standing in the door of the cell, shifting nervously from one foot to the other and looking indecisive.

"Let's get out of here," House said. "Before I really do collapse."

Wilson nodded then turned towards the door.

"You might want to move or we're going to have a little difficulty getting out of here," he said acerbically.

The cop quickly skittered out of the door and watched with wary eyes as Wilson followed House out of the cell. House simply concentrated of staying upright as he limped down the corridor and through the station, letting Wilson direct him with gentle touches and quiet words. Once they were in the car, House let himself slump into the front seat, listening absently as Wilson threw the bag containing his belongings into the back seat and settled down in the driver's seat. He gave a start when he felt a warm hand on his arm and looked over at Wilson.

"You okay?" Wilson asked, his worry and concern plain to see. "Anything you want?"

House nodded, the drugs now having fully kicked in. The pain had receded to a dull throb and his brain was full of haze.

"Home," he said, his voice slightly slurred. "Bed. You."

Wilson blinked and gave him a startled look. "What?"

House closed his eyes slowly as he realised what his drugged brain had just made him say then he opened them again with a mental shrug.

He gave Wilson a slow half-smile. "You heard me."

"Yes," Wilson admitted, sounding stunned. "And you're drugged."

House shrugged loosely. "Maybe. Still mean it."

Wilson stared at him again then abruptly turned away and started the car. He pulled out of the parking spot and drove away from the police station, very determinedly paying attention to the road. But House could practically see his mind running at top gear and he slowly smiled. They'd get back to his apartment then he'd see what happened.


End file.
